


Unseen Factor

by Theatre_Phoenix



Series: Factor Alone [1]
Category: Enola Holmes - Fandom, Enola Holmes Series - Nancy Springer, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Con Artists, Family, Gen, Growing Up, Healing, learning, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:38:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 73,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theatre_Phoenix/pseuds/Theatre_Phoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was the factor no one really considered. Her brothers never talked about her, mostly because they would never admit their sister was on the other side of the law. Inspired by the Enola Holmes Mysteries - BBC Sherlock style. A short story collection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hello Again

**Author's Note:**

> This story came about when I wondered how would Enola Holmes portrayed in the BBC Sherlock. This is a collection of short stories and drabbles about Enola, her relationship with her two brothers and how she grows into her own person. The occur during, before and after the episodes of Season 1 & 2 with the appropriate spoiler alerts. I may even do some Great Hiatus stories if my Muse will let me.  
> I will state that I am American who has never been to Britain outside of the airport there, so if some Americanism creep in I do apologize.
> 
> I own nothing. This world belongs to the respected creators.  
> Please enjoy and review.
> 
> This occurs before 'The Study in Pink'.

Mycroft's peace at the club was interrupted when a note was brought to him informing him he had a visitor. He became even more annoyed when there was no one in the visitor's lounge.

"It's a woman." He was informed by an attendant. "She opted to wait outside, sir."

As soon as Mycroft was outside a cup of coffee was offered before him.

"Regular with one sugar." The young woman said after taking a sip of her own cup. "I doubt you changed the way you take your coffee since we last saw each other."

"A peace offering?" He asked taking the cup.

"Of a sort." She smiled.

Without another word, Mycroft lead her to the side of the building where they could sit comfortably unseen by those walking by. They sat next to each other on a wall that was high enough to lean more than sit. It was here that Mycroft took the opportunity to observe the woman with minimal chance of disruption.

He had not seen her since she was fourteen years. She had grown since last he saw her, no longer the little girl who barely spoke, she now had confidence in her stance. She dressed fashionably conservatively and her hair and makeup were equally conservatively making her seem older than her mere twenty years. If he had not known who this person was and her age Mycroft would say she was in her late twenties almost thirty. Her eyes darted about, similar to Sherlock's, as she observed everything around her taking it in, making mental notes here and there. Mycroft knew that she was allowing him the courtesy of observing her for she said nothing and made no attempt at eye contact. The thing that perplexed him was her use of the American accent.

"I like it." She said suddenly. "The accent; helps me blend in better when I'm there. That nation is so full of misfits that no one really scrutinizes me. Especially as I ramble about this or that."

"Enola," Her name felt strange to say after years of limited use. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, Mycroft, you were always the cleverest of us all." Enola smiled behind her coffee. "You tell me."

He sighed. "Based on your comfortable use of the accent I say most of your time has been spent in the United States, eastern coast. Most likely the first place you went to after you left. But you travel extensively – your satchel can only be gotten in Italy, same with your boots, your perfume, France, your hair accessories, Switzerland, your jewelry, Germany. You work extensively with art, probably specializing in art restoration..." He trailed off when he realized something quite unexpectedly.

"Stumped already?" She asked when her brother's silence had lingered a bit too long. Looking at Mycroft she saw that he as now focusing intently on her hands.

"You work in forgery." He said at last with a disappointing tone. "Mostly vital documents."

"I help people." She remarked in a matter-of-fact tone not really denying what Mycroft had said. "And even if I would admit to such an accusation, I'm not going to do it in front of the club in which half of the employees of the British Government are members."

"Five years, Enola." Mycroft finally got to what he wanted to say. "You were just gone with only a letter to say good-bye."

"I know you looked." Enola placed down her coffee and pulled out a large thick envelope from her satchel. "You have eyes and ears all over the place."

"Of course I looked – you're my sister." Mycroft almost snapped – almost. "I would do no less."

"I'm fine." She insisted with a bit more force than she intended. She held out the envelope to Mycroft, but seeing that he was not going to take it, she dropped it between them. "In my line of work, which I'm not saying what it is, I've come across a person who I believe you should keep an eye on."

Mycroft looked at the file thoughtfully. "Is this the only reason you're back?"

"I'm not coming home." She quickly stated. "At least, not just yet. Being in Britain, unfortunately, leaves a rather bad taste in my mouth. I need time before I can stomach the aftertaste. "

"Did you even think about the consequences when you left?" He gingerly placed a hand on the envelope after placing his coffee down. They both concentrated their stares to the ground just below them – they found difficult to look at each other for long moments of time.

"Yes." Enola answered without hesitation, smoothing out her hair. "And things played out exactly the way I thought they would. You, Sherlock and Mummy were so predictable – at least to me you are."

"I could keep you here." Mycroft said casually, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between them. "Make it quite difficult for you to leave the country again."

"You could." Enola agreed. "But that didn't work five years ago, what makes you think it will work this time?" Sighing she stood taking up her satchel and began to quickly walk away.

"Enola," Mycroft stood. "You are greatly missed."

She did not turn around but she did pause in her walk. She steeled her resolve to not turn around for if she did she knew she would not be able to leave. She knew that what Mycroft said was true to a certain extent, but it was said as an attempt to get her to stay as her own choosing. It was difficult for her to see her eldest brother, every fiber of her being wanted to run away and never look back. But she tried that already and yet here she was with one of the persons she swore never to see again. Familiar ties are hard to cut. Without another word she escaped into the crowds of London.

Mycroft knew that going after Enola and forcing her to stay would be counterproductive and she could easily get away, especially since she was no longer a minor under the law. Taking up the coffee and envelope he returned to the club.

Mycroft reflected on his sister once he had returned to his chair. Despite her confidence and easy manner she was on edge. A state that Mycorft remembered Enola being in often since she was born. When she was younger she was extremely cautious around her family in her behavior and when she presented herself to others, especially to family. She spoke little as a child, even stopping altogether only to pick up speech again a few weeks before she left.

So between when she left and today she had fallen into crime, high-end crime by the state of dress. Mycroft wanted to know how and who brought her to that world.

But that was something to think about later, for now Mycroft now at least knew Enola was in good health and was getting by. He would look into her illegal actives at a later time.

"Alright James Moriaty," He thought to himself. "Why do you have my sister concerned?"


	2. The Lehrers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This serves more as an introduction of some OCs who play a huge part in Enola's life and is set a few years before the last chapter. Unfortunately there is only mentions of Mycroft and Sherlock in this chapter, but never fear, they will show up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy and review.
> 
> Disclaimer: See previous chapter.

Enola Holmes had come down with a terrible flu and was extremely hungry when she first met Dr. Wilhelm Lehrer and his wife, Dr. Amelia Lehrer, both professors at New York University the former in philosophy and the latter in art history.

She had arrived in New York City a little over a year ago, trying to get as far away as possible from her family and had promptly taken to living in the streets. It was not as if she had a lot of options at her disposal. Fortunately she was quick on her feet and even quicker in mental capabilities. Finding odd jobs here and there gave her numerous opportunities to observe and learn from people from every walk of life. Some were cruel, forcing her to learn to fight tooth and nail; others were kind, teaching her the concept of hope.

Enola grew to know what hunger really felt like and what biting cold could do to a body thinly clothed. It was on the streets that Enola forced herself to adopt the American accent. No one looks at you twice when you sound like everyone else, which was what she wanted. She knew that Mycroft was creating quite a powerful niche in the British government for himself and was most likely looking for her, and so was Sherlock, in his own way. Either way, best not to attract to much attention, especially from official authority type people.

People who saw her quite often, knew her as 'that nice polite homeless girl', which did not bother Enola. She wanted to disappear and not having a name was a start. But she knew that being homeless could not last forever. That reality hit her when she awoken one morning, after a night of being poorly sheltered against the elements, feeling particularly ill. Her fear of being discovered outweighed her sense to go to a hospital for aid.

She was walking down the street coughing when she first saw them. The couple were a bit older than Mycroft, married for a number of years but no children. They were walking home after grocery shopping, both carrying reusable bags full of food and holding each others hands. They looked happy. That was what first caught Enola's attention. The second thing was the apple that was sitting on top of the groceries and she went for it.

A firm but gentle hand held tightly to one that guilty grasped an apple from the groceries and almost got away. Enola feared what they might do, call the police was a good probability and with that result she would be deported back to England which meant facing her family. All around, the prospects did not look good for her.

To her great surprise, however, they did not call the police or even threatening her. The Lehrers, instead, brought her to their home and gave her the first proper meal she's had in little over a year. She tried to polite refuse saying that they could not repay an act of theft with such a reward, but they insisted.

As Enola ate, they asked general questions of her. Mostly pertaining to her life in the streets and vaguely learning of how she came to be there. They did not push for information if Enola refused to give a complete answer but instead seem to understand her refusal to speak of certain things about herself.

Enola learned that Wilhelm was an immigrant to America, and had come to the country with his parents when he was quite young but still had family in Germany. His childhood was spent living mostly in the States and sometimes visiting family in the old country. He spoke both English and German so well that the accent of one did not bleed into the other. Besides being a philosophy professor at NYU he was quite a businessman often helping his father who had done very well for himself in New York with his own successful business.

Amelia was quite the opposite of Wilhelm, being born and bred in Texas and coming from a large family. Her Texan accent had been tempered by many years of living in New York city teaching art history. She was the odd one in her family preferring thick dusty books and painting while her brothers and sisters played outside with the dogs, but that was not to say that she did not enjoy being out in the sun with the rest of her family. Amelia had the proud title of being the best shot in her family, much the jovial annoyance of her brothers. Not only did she teach about art, Amelia worked extensively with art restoration.

It was quickly established that the Lehrers were good natured people, who genuinely had her welfare at heart. Enola had to admit surprise at the Lehrers' willingness not to report her to the country's Social Service and their offer for her to stay with them. Furthering her surprise they were immensely impressed with her attempted thievery of the apple. But what made her almost drop her glass of water was their last question.

"Do you want to become a better thief?" Wilhelm Lehrer smiled. Amelia stood behind her husband with an equally kind look, presenting the apple to Enola.

Enola Holmes, barely even fifteen, had just fallen into the company of the world's best, unknown, uncaught, no record, only whispers, most successful and humble art thieves and forgers.

That was unexpected turn of events.

Not really having any other plans she gave a real smile, something she rarely did and took the apple. "When do I start?"


	3. New Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Country, New City, New People, what else do we need?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have mentioned this before, but these stories are in no particular order in terms of timeline. They are in order in the sense that I will post one story before another to give certain background to understand what's going on. Other than that, it's pretty much random.
> 
> This is set just about a year after the last chapter.

Enola waved good bye to the family she and the Lehrers had just given good news to. Their home returned to them and their money that was stolen returned in full and then some. Over the past year since she fell into the company of Wilhelm and Amelia Lehrer, Enola had witness many such scenes after a well executed con. Amelia, about six months ago, insisted that Enola be the one that bid their clients good-bye, something about improving her people skills. She did not quite understand it, but she did it anyway without any protestations. It was a small price to pay for the kindness the Lehrers had shown her.

Enola returned to the car where Dr. and Dr. Lehrer waited for her. She was deep in thought, going over the memory of the happy family she just saw. She tired to imagine her own family like that, but no matter how hard she tried the fanatical image would not materialize in her mind.

"It's moments like these that make me glad I no longer steal art." Amelia smiled as Enola entered the car. When the door was closed Wilhelm started the car and drove. "You did good Elle."

Hearing Amelia, Enola came out of her thoughts and smiled, both at the compliment and the nickname that Lehrers gave her. It was simple, common and nothing like her own strange name. They just started one say calling her Elle and she made no move to correct them, mostly because she did not notice the first few times. When she did notice, Enola found that she had grown attached to it.

"What's next?" Amelia asked

"A vacation." Wilhelm said as he took towards the highway. "We've been working non-stop at both our jobs, legal and otherwise. There's a break in the semester coming up and I think we should take an advantage of it. Also, Elle needs a break from studying."

"I'm fine!" Enola piped in from the back seat.

"You've have stopped for two weeks straight." Wilhelm pointed out. "During which you barely slept or ate."

"Distracting." Enola waved her hand dismissively. "It worked out well in the end."

"I could say the end doesn't justify the means, but that would make us hypocrites." Amelia sighed. They had been through this discussion many times before. Enola would latch onto a problem or lesson and as a result slept little and ate less. It was not as if Enola was doing it on purpose, she truly forgot. Amelia had taken to simply putting broth in a coffee cup which Enola would sip from every so often. "Oh, the life we lead. Where were you thinking of going?"

"Germany, I think." Wilhelm said. "The family is practically begging we come and visit for a bit. And Mutti has been wanting to go for a while."

"It has been a while since we were in Germany," Amelia mused. "And this would be a perfect time for them to really meet Elle." She added excitedly.

"Are you sure?" Enola suddenly found herself nervous, an emotional that she did not particularly care for and did her best to control.

"Yes," Amelia and Wilhelm both answered without hesitation.

"They've been asking to meet you for a while." Wilhelm said.

"Alright then," Enola smiled but her smile did not reach her eyes. It rarely did.

To say that Enola was nervous would be an understatement. Meeting Wilhelm's extended family, yes, was a new experience that she was not sure how to react to, but being back in Europe was what gave Enola the most uneasiness. So close to where Mycroft could spot her with his vast connections in different governments, and where Sherlock could hear a whisper of her presence with his vast connections with different everyman.

She said little after that on their way back to their home in the city. When they reached their loft apartment, Amelia gave a knowing look to her husband as Enola made her way to her room.

"She's been thinking." Amelia said. She went into the kitchen with Wilhelm following close behind.

"Elle does that a lot, my dear." Wilhelm remarked as he open the fridge to get a bottle of water. "But I assume you are more concerned with the subject of her thoughts."

"Why do I put up with your sarcasm?" Amelia sighed dramatically putting her hand to her forehead to add emphasis.

"You find it charming," Wilhelm smiled before taking a swig from the bottle. "Ever wonder what her own family is like?"

"Not normal from what I can gleam." Amelia grabbed the bottle from her husband and took a drink. "I was talking with Dr. O'Connor the other day -"

"Lisa O'Connor? She teaches psychiatry at the graduate school, doesn't she?" he asked taking back the bottle.

"Yes," Amelia paused think about what next to say. "She is licensed to practice and I was talking to her about Elle."

"Really?" Wilhelm was not quite sure how to respond to this new tidbit of information from his wife. They had decided shortly after Enola came to live with them that they would be very vague about her background. The most they told anyone was Wilhelm and Amelia were guardians to Enola, which was true in a sense, they did guard her well-being it just was not legal or official.

"Really," Amelia nodded. "Not much details, of course."

"Of course."

"Well," She took a deep breath. "Dr. O'Connor, based solely on what I told her, has the unofficial professional opinion that there might be abuse in Enola's background. But she said that she would have to talk with Elle herself before she can give her official professional opinion."

"It would have to be verbal," Wilhelm took another drink of water as he mused over his wife's words. "She had a clean bill of health outside the marks of living homeless for almost a year when we took her to the doctors last year."

"You think it's possible?"

"It wouldn't surprise me." Wilhelm walked out of the kitchen to the large space that they used as a sitting room and music room. He sat on the couch and looked out the window to the city. "We've both seen how her mind works. Taking in details that no one else would notice. Remember how she spot that forgery last month at the museum? Elle gave exact detail of how she it was fake and how it was done despite all the verification it went through before being put on display.

"She is brilliant, no one can deny that." Wilhelm continued as Amelia joined him on the couch. "But her ability to interact with people is severally underdeveloped. A brilliant mind, untamed by social graces. It is not that hard to imagine Elle blurting out what she observes without thinking twice of the consequences."

"But." Amelia prompted.

"But when one considers her family." Wilhelm looked towards his wife but did not really see her. "From the little she has told us, she had stern parents who most likely didn't understand her, and brothers who she is not close to in either age or in friendship. I do not need a doctorate in psychiatry to tell you that Enola is baffled by happy families."

"The last job," Amelia remembered. She remembered Enola looking that the client and his interactions with his family with the curiosity of a child. It was not the first time Amelia saw that.

"And us," Wilhelm downed the last bit of the water before putting the bottle on the table before them. "I can only concluded that her parents marriage was not a happy one."

"Of what she remembers," Amelia pointed out. "She told us that her father died when she was rather young."

"Thus causing her brothers stepping in to fill that role becoming less like brothers and more like grudging caretakers."

"For a philosopher you read people very well." Amelia commented breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

"It happens when one spends too much time trying to philosophically understand the nature of man." Wilhelm's remarked caused Amelia to crack a smile.

"I think we should give it to her now," Amelia said as she stood, grabbing the empty water bottle. "Now seems like a good time."

Amelia kissed Wilhelm's cheek and went to the kitchen. Wilhelm stood and opened one of the many hidden compartments they had installed over the years and pulled out a small thin box, almost like a jewelry box, and headed up to Enola's room.

"Elle?" Wilhelm called softly as he gently knocked on the door.

"Come in." Enola called. She was at her easel trying to finish one of the many pictures she had started. She could never work on one picture at a time; she would start and stop than move on to another one and than another before going back to the first one.

Amelia had taught her drawing and painting, and Enola found she enjoyed it. It helped her relax and think. Plus, when Amelia insisted they go to the park and draw, it gave Enola the opportunity to observe people without seeming rude. People, surprisingly to Enola, did not mind being drawn by a stranger, especially when the stranger looked the part of an artist.

"The New York skyline in the sunrise," Wilhelm commented as he stood behind Enola examining her work. "I like the New York School of art influence."

"What's that?" Enola noticed the small box in Wilhelm's hand. He smiled and gave it to her.

"Amelia and I were going to wait, but now seems like a good time to give it to you."

Opening the box she saw that it was an American passport, one of Amelia's excellent forgeries. Inside there was a picture of Enola, but the name...

"Elle Lehrer?" Enola looked up, genuinely surprised, at Wilhelm.

"Amelia and I know that you weren't very close to your own family and over the past year we feel that you have become part of ours. My parents already spoil you like their granddaughter." Wilhelm explained. "At the risk of sounding cliché, you've become the daughter we were never able to have and this is a small way to say it. Only if you want it."

Enola didn't say anything. She knew the appropriate responses but she could not bring herself to act them out. Processing the fact that she was feeling shock and was surprise when she realized that she was also crying.

Crying? Tears were sad though, so why was she crying?

"Tears can also be a good thing," Wilhelm explained softly.

"So I'm … happy." Enola whispered then smiled with realization. "I like it."

Wilhelm smiled too, only because he saw that Enola's smiled actually reached her eyes.


	4. A Few Goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little peek of the childhood of Enola interacting with her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set before Enola ran away from home and was inspired by a few things from the first 'Enola Holmes Mysteries'.
> 
> Please review and tell me what you think.

The whole experience was surreal. Last week her father, Siger, was admonishing her, as he often did, with her mother, Violet, standing in the background betraying nothing in her face. As always Enola said nothing. There was nothing to say, no one would listen to her. Her youth and lack of experience were often used against her in her ability to understand anything.

When her father was done Enola left her parents and went to the library. On her way she began to cry, no sobbing, hiccups, or sniffs, just tears falling out of her eyes and she hated herself for it.

By age five Enola learned not to be emotional, it never benefited her in anyway. Mycroft and Sherlock were not emotional, but they talked too much. Their talking lead to arguments and their arguments lead to yelling.

By age five Enola thought it best not to talk at all and maybe there would be less yelling. This only seemed to frustrate her parents to a greater degree.

So by the age of seven Enola Holmes spoke little if at all, and showed barely any emotion. Both actions lead to much concern of her teachers at school that Siger and Violent had to make special visits to the school to lie through their teeth saying their youngest was shy and had a delay in her speech development.

Sherlock was unexpectantly in the library. He was pouring over notes and pinched police reports of an accidental death he believed to be murder. It was the case that he always went back to when there was nothing else to do, but made little progress on. Enola always remembered him working on it and wonder when Sherlock would let the matter rest. She tried to escape without Sherlock seeing her tears but to was too late. He had seen her, tears and all.

"What's wrong with you?" He asked, not out of concern, but more for the curiosity of why her face was wet.

She said nothing, just went over to Siger's desk and turned over a posed picture of him and Violet. She turned back to Sherlock and did her best to wipe the tears off her face with her hand.

"Father got after you again." Sherlock smirked. Enola hated when he did that. "He wouldn't do it as much if you actually spoke instead of leaving him to guess what you are thinking."

Enola crossed her arms and glared at Sherlock. They had this conversation many times over the past two years. It was getting dull.

"Mycroft and I maybe able to know what's going on in your mind but that doesn't mean Father and Mummy can." Sherlock began to pick up the various papers from the floor. He was not getting anywhere with the murder, no one would listen to him about the missing shoes. "You can't remain silent forever, Enola."

She knelt down to help her brother pick up the papers before Siger walked in on the mess. Siger was very particular of how the house should be kept and having stolen police files all over the library floor would not please him.

"You need to start using that mind of yours more usefully." Sherlock said as Enola handed him the last of the papers. "I find it hard to believe that you can be related to me and not be somewhat capable to think."

Enola looked away from Sherlock. It felt like something grabbed her stomach and squeezed it tightly using sharp knives as fingers. Sherlock was always saying things like that. No matter what she did there was something she did wrong and had to improve upon. Mycroft said things similar, but in a different manner. They always critiqued her in the hopes that she would improve from . . . well whatever she was currently. Sometimes Enola wondered if her brothers forgot she was only seven years old. She quickly went to a bookcase and without seeing the title, grabbed a book and ran out of the library.

Sherlock sighed in mild disappointment when Enola said nothing. She did not display any signs of great intelligence as he and Mycroft did. She was just so . . . ordinary at times. It was becoming very easy to be disappointed in her.

When she left the library she looked at the title. It was something called 'Black Death' and the effect it had on Europe hundreds of years ago. Well, at least she would not be bored that afternoon.

That was last week and this is this week. Siger Holmes passed away in the wee hours of the morning several days after that particular day and it was a bit of a surprise. The house was in the throws of mourning, at least the household went through the motions of mourning.

The funeral and burial were simple affairs, without too much emotions being thrown about. The Holmes family was not known for their outward displays of emotions. They did not say much through the service and on the way home.

Enola was by Sherlock's side as people ushered themselves into their house to pay their respects. He grudgingly held her hand because Mummy told him too, mostly to keep her from wondering off. Enola had to give him credit, even if he did not want to hold her hand he held it tightly. She decided against trying to pry her hand away, it was not worth the pain of a tightening grip.

At seven years old death is a concept that no one can really explain to you clearly. Mostly because no one knows how to put death into words that they think a seven year old would understand. Enola understood that her father was dead, fell asleep in his bed and did not wake up. She maybe young but she was not stupid, despite what her family thought.

The late afternoon and early evening was spent with people in their house talking in low voices, mostly to Violet and Mycroft, giving their condolences, surprise at Siger's sudden death, and speaking in even lower voices about the strangeness of the Holmes children and how Violet would handle them without Siger.

Mycroft seemed to be the most normal of them all, doing extremely well in school with a promising future developing ahead of him. But he still had that look about him that gave the impression that there were a thousand thoughts racing through his head. He almost seem to control the conversation at every turn to the point that he was almost in your head dictating what you would say next.

Sherlock was smart, no one could deny that. But he had the unfortunate need and want for validation for his intelligence. He would say anything and everything concerning what he had observed, there was no stopping him. If you did not want your secrets on display to the world, you did not talk with Sherlock.

Enola was quiet. That was all people could say about the young girl and stay within the bounds of politeness. If they were take a step outside of social niceties they would say unsettling. She had the odd habit of appearing out of nowhere and staring at you taking in every detail about your person. If it was not staring her would be holding something that you needed. Needed to make a quick note, there she was holding a pen and a notepad for you. Polite mourning tears that never seem to fall from your eyes but were present, there she was with a tissue.

It was late by the time everyone had left and Mycroft ushered Sherlock and Enola upstairs. Enola went without complaint, she had enough of the silly people thinking silly things about her and her brothers, but Sherlock was curious. It was obvious to the younger Holmes children that Mycroft wanted to talk with Mummy alone. He has been wanting to do so since he got back from the university, but being busy with the obligatory duties of a mourning son he had little chance.

Sherlock had attempted a few days earlier to find out what it was Mycroft wanted to speak to Mummy about, but had no luck with sneaking around. When he asked his brother point blank there was a finality, boarding on threatening, in Mycroft's voice when he said, "Leave it be."

And he left it, until tonight. As soon as Enola closed the door to her room Sherlock crept back down the stairs and tried to listen at the door. But it soon opened revealing Mycroft in the doorway with a unreadable expression on his face. He was holding a thin folder in his hand that seem to have official papers of some sort inside.

Without saying anything Mycroft closed the library door behind him and took Sherlock's arm leading him back to the foot stairs.

"What was that all about?" Sherlock demanded when Mycroft let go of his arm. His eyes were on the folder.

"I'll explain everything when you are older." Mycroft said looking intently at his brother. He glasped his hands behind his back, hiding the folder, to prove his point. "Not before. Now go to bed."

There was no broaching any argument with Mycroft and Sherlock decided against trying. He glared at Mycroft before making his way up the stairs.

Mycroft waited until he heard the door of his brother's room click shut before allowing himself to relax and let the stress of the day show on his face. He eased himself on the stairs before looking at the documents his mother agreed to sign.

Caring is not an advantage. Siger told him that once when Mycroft mentioned wanting to go into governmental work. Looking at his mother signature so elegantly scrawled along the line at the bottom of the page, he wondered if his late father was right.


	5. Welcome to London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've seen him, but you don't really know him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not resist having fun with this scene.
> 
> Sherlock and John show up briefly, but sadly Enola does not. Set during 'A Study in Pink'.

Marcus "Hatch" Hatcherson, code breaker and hacker extraordinaire, took almost no jobs outside the States, mostly because there was little need for him to leave his house. But when he owed a favor to a very close friend he could hardly say no. However, he instantly missed the shores of warm Southern California when he stepped into the chilly British evening from the airport and hailed a cab.

He gave the address to the driver and prayed for an uneventful drive to the destination, he was feeling a bit jet lag and in no mood to deal with anything unplanned. Well, one could always hope.

Hatch did not keep time, he was busy writing down a new computer code in his small notebook for his next job, but it was not that long before the cab stopped. He was about to get out without thinking when he noticed that he was not where he wanted to go.

"Um – is something wrong?" Hatch asked feeling slightly panic as he settled back into his seat. He suddenly felt like the victim in some classic black and white mystery movie just before the scene cuts away to reveal the body dump. That would really be awkward.

"Just need to double check my numbers before I go any further." The cabbie explained. "Don't I won't charge you any extra."

Hatch wasn't quite sure what numbers the cabbie needed to check, but he had lived in a big city for the majority of his life and took many a cab from point A to point B for him to know that whatever it was it could be done after he was dropped off. Plus the cabbie was not really making any marks on the form on the clipboard, he was more preoccupied with looking around.

Hatch had to give the cabbie low points for subtlety. Curiosity taking over he also looked around trying to figure out what was here that the cabbie wanted to see. People walking, shops, restaurants – nothing that really stood out. Well except the cars driving on the opposite of what he was use to, but that was just him.

He was getting a bit anxious, glancing at his wrist watch several times before he decided to speak. "I don't want to be rude, but I do need to meet someone and I don't want to be late."

"Sure thing," The cabbie said a hint of disappointment in his words. With one last look around the cabbie took off.

Hatch returned to his code and was quite contented until he was jostled forward by the force of the cabbie suddenly stopped to prevent hitting a man that ran into the middle of the street.

"Police! Open her up!" The man yelled.

"Great," Hatch muttered under his breath and quickly put away his notebook just as the policeman opened the cab door.

It was then that Hatch noticed that there were two of them, not in uniform. The first man, the one who ran into the street, was tall and very lean with dark curly hair who was wearing clothes that even Hatch knew was out of the budget of a cop, no matter what country. The second was a bit shorter than the first with lighter hair but dressed within the budget of a cop. They were both out of breath like they had been running.

Something was off, but Hatch could not really say what though.

The first man looked over him and seemed disappointed.

"No . . . teeth, tan – what California?" He asked, but did not wait for an answer before looking at the airport tags. "L.A. Santa Monica, just arrived."

Hatch wanted to say something but the second man beat him to it. "How could you possibly know that?"

Fair question.

"The luggage." Good answer. The first man looked him over once again. "Ah, probably your first trip to London, right? Going to your final destination the route your cabbie was taking you."

"Sorry," Hatch interrupted, but he had to know. "Are you guys the police?"

"Yeah," The first man quickly held up a badge and, just as quickly before Hatch could really read, put it away. Hatch wondered if he was caught, but the cop had not slapped the cuffs on him. But then again, he had not really broken any laws in Britain, yet, for the police to be concerned about him. "Everything alright?"

It was an odd question to ask after running in front of a car and not one Hatch was expecting at all but in a strange was gave him relief causing him to smirk. These guys were definitely not cops. "Yeah."

The first man nodded and gave a small, quick smile. "Welcome to London." He said cheerfully, which was fake, even Hatch who was a computer person could tell, before walking away.

"Any problems, just let us know." The second man quickly added closing the door before following the first man.

Hatch sat there a bit stun for a moment trying to wrap his head around what had just occurred. The only thing he was really sure of was that there was something off about the two men. Despite the badge he briefly saw, the two men were not cops, most likely private investigators. Those were always fun. He was about to tell the cabbie to drive on when there was a knock on the window.

A policeman, this time in uniform and most definitely real. Keeping his cool he opened the door.

"Can I help you officer?" He asked with his most charming California smile.

The uniformed office explained that he had witness the two men talking to him and wondered if he was being harassed. Hatch vaguely explained, playing up the dumb American, what had happened with the two men and pointed towards them in the last direction he saw them go. But as soon as he pointed at them, they took off. Hatch could have sworn that they each had a gleeful smirk on their faces.

Once the uniformed cop was finished questioning him, Hatch got back into the cab. The door was barely closed before the cabbie decided to take off almost like a madman. Hatch could have sworn that the cabbie had suddenly become nervous and wanted to hightail it out of the area.

Arriving at his destination, Hatch got out and payed the cabbie, who suddenly became very distracted. Hatch decided against any form of a tip, the cabbie was rather a lousy driver. When the cab was out of sight Hatch took out his phone and dialed.

"I'm outside and there's no one else in sight." He said when the other side picked up. He hit end call when he heard the sound of a click from the other side of the line. The door across the street opened and the man in the doorway beckoned him inside.

"Hatch, it is always a pleasure." Wilhelm held out his hand to his visitor and smiled warmly.

"You know I can never say no to any of your request, Dr. Lehrer." Hatch shook the man's hand and went inside.

"Please Hatch, call me Wilhelm." The doctor smiled taking one of Hatch's bags. "We've worked together long enough for you to earn the right of familiarity. Your trip uneventful?"

"Pretty much," Hatch smirked thinking about his taxi ride. "Well, the taxi was interesting."

"Was it one of those get in a cab and win money by answering trivial questions?" Wilhelm joked. He lead Hatch to where he had set up a work station for his guest to work.

"No," Hatch pulled out his laptop and his other equipment. "It was much more interesting."

Hatch explained the unusual taxi ride from the airport as he finished setting up his work station and Wilhelm made coffee, it was going to be a long night. They shared a good laugh at the ridiculous taxi ride.

"I don't think in any of my trips to London I have ever been greeted in such a manner." Wilhelm chuckled.

"I thought you didn't like doing jobs in London?" Hatch sipped his coffee. Very strong, Wilhelm always made very strong coffee.

"I don't mind London," Wilhelm clarified. "My daughter is the one who doesn't do jobs here."

"How is the family?"

"The women are fine. Amelia has been really busy with school." Wilhelm poured himself a cup of coffee. "The administration asked her to take on two more classes, and that seems to be eating up a lot of her time. Fortunately it hasn't effected our non-academic activities."

"And Elle?"

"Growing up too fast." Wilhelm smiled fondly as he thought of Enola. "I blame you for teaching her computer hacking. She's figured out how to hack into the CIA database without being detected."

"You wanted her to know how," Hatch defended himself. "And I'm very impressed that she picked up so quickly. It wouldn't surprise me if she surpassed me in hacking. And I'm the best there is."

"Which is why I picked you to teach her. Now," Wilhelm put down his coffee and pulled out a file. "I've decided to put together a crew."


	6. Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stars meant more to Sherlock than he was willing to let John know at that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another peek into the childhood of Enola with Sherlock and Mycroft, of course.
> 
> This is set several years after the chapter 'A Few Goodbyes'.

As Sherlock came into the house after school, he saw his sister running as fast as she could away from his brother.

Nothing new.

Enola, since the age of ten, had developed the ability to have heated arguments with her brothers without utter a word. That's all the Holmes children seem to do when together these days. Argue. Fight. But never yelling, oddly enough. When Sherlock and Mycroft fought there was a thin veneer of politeness that could easily be stripped away if one stepped too far. But that never happened. All three of them knew how far to take it before there was no turning back. They did not think it was worth anything to step too far past the point of no return.

The brothers had recently taking to arguing a lot about Enola, each with their own idea of what to do for her welfare. Any attempts of Enola's to stop her brothers were ignored or belittled.

There was no sound of a door slamming shut which informed Sherlock she was headed to the roof. He said nothing to Mycroft as he passed him. They barely spoke when Mycroft came home for a holiday. The brothers preferred it that way – the arguing and witty insults always made Mummy upset.

"Just make sure she doesn't fall off." Mycroft requested as Sherlock ascended the stairs. Sherlock did not give him the curtsey of pausing his pace to acknowledge he heard his brother.

Sherlock found Enola sitting on the edge of the roof with her legs hanging over the edge. She was gazing up at the stars that began to show in the sky, analyzing them as she did with everything.

Enola shifted away as he sat next to her not taking her eyes off the sky.

"Mycroft trying to send you off to a boarding school again?" he asked, though he did not need to so so, he already know the answer. For the past year Mycroft had thought it best, and Mummy agreed, that Enola should attend to some prestigious girls school. Something about it would be best for her development. But Enola, in her own stubborn way, fought the decision.

Enola nodded, looking away from the stars to Sherlock. To anyone else her expression would be considered unreadable, but Sherlock knew his sister well enough to see the questioning and pleading in her face. She felt out of place in her own home. Her relationship with her family was at best strained. Despite the fighting Enola learned from a young age that her brothers did care in their own non-normal way, but it always felt like a choking leash. Violet barely spoke to the girl and Enola never understood the reasoning behind that behavior.

"Why the stars?" Sherlock asked trying to lighten his sister's mood. He cared little for the celestial bodies that hung in the sky. But Enola had taken up the odd habit of watching them whenever she was upset or simply wanted to get away from the drama of the household. Sherlock had discovered this quite by accident and from time to time he would join her. Mostly to make sure she did not fall in the dark and to get her to talk. She was just a little over twelve years old and still hadn't uttered a word since she was five.

Enola shrugged her shoulders to indicate 'why not'. So they continued sitting in silence as they watched the stars not caring that they were suns burning thousands of light years away, but watched them for their beauty.

Years later Enola continued the habit of watching the stars, but now it was used to contemplate rather than getting away. Even in New York City where the lights of the sleepless city dimmed the stars. But on this particular night Enola was in Texas with the Lehrers visiting Amelia's parents and the rest of her family had come over. They were an overly jovial group and loud. When Amelia said she came from a big family Enola did not realize exactly how big. Plus with the additions of the children of Amelia's siblings and their spouses it was quite a full house. Enola went out into the night to have some silence as she thought and to escape the chaos of small children running about with their loud laughter.

The stars were brighter than anything that she could remember.

"My family would go camping every summer," Amelia said as she joined Enola also wanting to get away from her nieces and nephews for a bit. "I would stay up as late as I could just to watch the stars. My brother, the scientist, can tell you every story of every type of constellation up there and the science behind every burning light. Half of us would talk and talk until Dad told us to sleep."

Enola smiled. "I never bothered learning about astronomy growing up. I blame that on Sherlock's influence. But I would watch them on the roof whenever I got upset or needed to get away from family. Sometimes Sherlock would join me."

Amelia wrapped the blanket she had brought from the house around Enola to fight off the growing night chill.

"You miss them." Amelia stated, there was no question.

"My brothers? Quite a bit actually." Enola conceded holding the blanket close. She now gazed out into the night not really focusing on anything in particular, just the darkness. She had dropped the American accent without realizing it. "We didn't always fight. When I was much younger we had a lot of civil conversations, well … Sherlock and Mycroft did, I just sat and listened. And I enjoyed it. But after my father died, it fell to Mycroft to be the man of the house and I don't think Sherlock took too kindly to his attempts to run the household while being away at school. My mother withdrew herself from our lives essentially, and that's when the more intense fighting started.

"I think the problem was that Mycroft and Sherlock are so alike that they clash and everyone is effected by it." Enola smirked as she looked back up the stars. "You know, when Sherlock and I watched the stars we didn't fight. It was like an unspoken agreement not to fight as we watched the stars. Those nights it was like we were almost normal siblings."

It was rare for Enola to speak of the more fond memories of her brothers for they were rare in of themselves. It was in those moments in which the Lehrers could see the progress Enola had made under their care. It filled Wilhelm and Amelia with a strange mixture of happy and sad emotions. Happy because the child they took in and become their daughter had grown into her own person and sad that their daughter would soon be leaving the roost and going out into the world on her own.

Amelia wrapped an arm around Enola and joined her in stargazing with a smile spread across her face.

Wilhelm watched and listened to the two women from the porch. He had once told a class of his that stargazing was useful in that it prompted the human mind to think beyond its limits and into the unknown. Even if you did not care about the details of how the stars works, it sets the mind to wonder and one to admire it.

A similar thought passed through the mind of the world's only consulting detective as he stepped out of the cab into the chilly night hours later.

Looking up memories of time spent with his sister flicker briefly in his mind.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Sherlock asked no one in particular as he button his jacket. John briefly glanced around before he realized where Sherlock was looking.

"I thought you didn't care about -" John began.

"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it." Sherlock cut him off not wanting to restart their earlier conversation. As they walked down the alleyway he wondered if he should tell John about Enola, he already knew about Mycroft. But then the painful topic of her disappearance would come up.

Not today, Sherlock decided, the case had become too interesting to become distracted.


	7. Job Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected visitor, with an unwanted offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This set just before 'Hello Again'.
> 
> Please enjoy and don't forget to review.

James Moriarty was a name most professional criminals had heard repeatedly. 

Need extra help with a heist – call Moriarty. 

Need to smuggle a high profiled artifact – call Moriarty. 

Anything and everything … for a price.

The Lehrers made a personal rule early in their career not to work along side those too willing to kill. There were too many dead bodies that seem to come about whenever Moriarty was involved. And as such, Wilhelm Lehrer developed a healthy fear of working with James Moriarty, if not for the man himself after witnessing certain events that he never really talked about. Even thieves have they standards.

Enola, personally, saw no need to inquire into Moriarty's services. If there was something she could not do she learned how to do it, there was no need for her to seek a consultant. They had crossed paths once, much to Enola's chagrin. He was deeply impressed with her work and offered her a position in his vast organization. She declined the offer with the excuse that she was quite content with her circle of business. She had no desire to see the man again after that. So imagine her surprise when James Moriarty sat down across from her at a café in Paris.

"James Moriarty." She said his name in a form of a greeting after getting over the slight surprise of his presence. She sat back straight, ankles cross – the picture of a perfect lady keeping perfectly calm. Amelia would be so proud.

"Elle Lehrer." He smiled. Enola did not like that smile, it was too forced. He was dressed smartly in a finely tailored suit. "I cannot go anywhere without hearing your name. You've got quite a reputation."

"I could deny anything and everything," Enola smiled putting down her sketch book on the table and stuck the pencil in her bun at the nape of her neck. She placed her hands in her lap and unconsciously smoothed her dress. "But we're both professionals here. What pleasure do I owe for seeing you again Mr. Moriarty?"

Moriarty instantly took her sketch book and begun thumbing through it without answering her question. With anyone else Enola would have snatched it back and voiced her annoyance. But the man across from her was not just anyone. Wilhelm's warnings of caution echoed through her head as she watched the consulting criminal.

"You certainly have an eye for detail." He remarked tossing the book back on the table. He smiled again. "I've told you before to call me Jim."

"I think not," She said slowly taking back her sketch book and sliding it in her satchel at her feet, all while not taking her eyes off of Jim and keeping a coy smile on her face. She did not like the fact that he looked in the sketch book. For Enola it severed as a diary of sorts and for the man before her to have such an intimate look at her via her drawings was unhinging. "For the sake of professionalism."

"Old fashion...I like it." Jim leaned forward. "I need a piece of great art that doesn't really exist."

"You know I don't forge art, and besides, why me?" It was an honest question. "I understand you have quite a capable forger that you go to quite regularly."

"Your work surpasses his." He stated without missing a beat.

"By a hairsbreadth, perhaps" She countered keeping her manner polite. "It's not enough to switch to me however."

"Well, to be perfectly honest we had a bit of a fall out." Jim joked. His playful manner just made Enola feel all the more uneasy. "So Elle, want to expand your business? You wouldn't deny my offer a second time?"

"I'm perfectly happy with my current situation." Enola smiled. She waved to the waiter to get her check. "Besides, as a professional courtesy I rarely forge great works of art or verifications for it. I mean, personally I would hate to put in so much time and effort into stealing a painting only to learn that it's fake. Also, I'm very particular about whom I work with – our styles would clash too much to be effective. Good luck with your heist."

She paid the waiter and gave him her most charming smile. She grabbed her things and was about to leave when Moriarty grabbed her arm quite forcefully. He did it in such a way that would not really draw attention from those around them but strong enough to tell Enola not to move any further, or else.

"You're sure?" The question was innocent but the threat was there.

Enola, losing her smile, looked at his hand on her arm then to his face. She had bored expression on her face as to remark on the childishness of Moriarty's actions, but her eyes flashed.

"I notice that whenever you are involved bodies tend to show up." She kept her voice calm as she gently extracted her arm from his grip with her free hand. "I don't like dead bodies mixing in with my work. Now if you will excuse me, I must go see a man about a dog."

She stood and politely nod to him before turning away. Not too fast and not too slow with her walking.

"Very few people say no to me." Moriarty called out after her. Enola turned back to him and gave him her best cordial smile.

"But isn't that why you keep coming back to me, sir?" She asked coyly. "I'm not like other people."

Moriarty smirked at her daring attitude and he liked it. The fact that Enola had impressed the consulting criminal to such an extent unsettled her.

With a wave over her shoulder and she crossed the street never daring to look back. When she was far enough away and enough time had passed she pulled out her phone and dialed.

"Amelia – you were right," She began breathlessly. "Moriarty contacted me for a job and I think his usual forger is dead."

"You ran into Moriarty? Are you ok?" Amelia asked, her voice thick with worry.

"For now," Enola looked around keeping an eye out for anything unusual. "He won't kill me, at not yet anyway. He sees me as a valuable asset not to be wasted. Or he views me as a challenge. Either way he'll give me yet another opportunity to work with him – then he'll kill me. "

"When you get back to the hotel we're leaving straight for London." Amelia explained.

"No, only I need to go to London," Enola said hastily. "You and Wilhelm go back home as planned. It's best if it's just me."

"Are you sure about this plan?"

"It's been five years," Enola shrugged as she hailed for a taxi. "I think I'm well overdue to visit eldest brother mine."


	8. Internet Searches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no such thing as privacy on the internet - you be amazed what you can find there.

"The things you find on the internet." Dr. Wilhelm Lehrer said just above a whisper to no one in particular. "Elle?"

"Yes?" Elona called down from on top of a bookcase ladder in Wilhelm's study. They were both spending a restful Sunday afternoon as they always did, especially after a con: Wilhelm would look over his lessons plans for the week in his various philosophy classes as would Amelia for her art history and appreciation classes as they both taught at New York University.

Enola did little prepping for the week on Sundays; whether or not there was a con, heist or what-have-you, she always finished her homework assignments by Saturday evening, not that she went to a conventional school.

It would be obvious to say that she had an unconventional education under the Lehrers. She had a series of private tutors who taught her from the mundane – math, history, etc. - to the more unique – grifting, forging, hacking – and everything in between. Enola excelled at everything, throwing herself gleefully into her studies, blossoming in the care of the Lehrers, she was even very close to completing a doctorate despite her age, but never arrogant and always quiet. This Sunday was not different than any other with Wilhelm and Enola in the study in their posh Manhattan apartment. Out of the many apartments that the Lehrers had in the sleepless city they always ended up at the Manhattan apartment on Sunday.

"Didn't you say one of your brother's name was 'Sherlock'?" Wilhelm asked looking up from his laptop.

"My second eldest brother," She clarified before sliding down the ladder landing with a graceful thud. "Why?"

"If this is the same person, your brother has a website." He turned the computer slightly to allow Enola a better view of the screen as she came round the desk.

"'The Science of Deduction'," Enola read aloud before reading the rest to herself.

"Well, is it him?" He asked when she had finished.

"Yes," She sighed crossing her arms. "It sounds like he hasn't changed in the past few years."

"Except he's playing detective, and quite successful if one is to judge the list of cases on the site." Wilhelm appreciated the juxtaposition of the detective brother against the criminal sister. It was one of those odd things in life that would just happen without anyone realizing it. Seeing the thoughtful expression in Enola's face he sighed. "You still worry about him."

"That he'll turn up OD on some drug just so he can keep his mind stimulated. Sometimes I'm afraid that my brothers -" But stopped before going any further. She spoke in an even tone as though she was discussing a fact of life instead of one of her worst fears. "Despite our many disagreements I still love my idiotic brothers."

"Hopefully this detecting will keep him occupied." He ventured, standing from his chair. She had that look again. It was not a sad look, it was more of a haunting look in Enola's eyes. Even after all the years of working with Enola to grow beyond her doubt that haunted look never eased up on the intensity. Memories of her family were bittersweet to her.

"Only if the cases are interesting enough for him." Enola smirked hugging herself tighter without realizing it. Wilhelm placed a gentle hand on her shoulder in hopes to give some comfort. Then a thought occurred to Enola. "Why are you looking at his website?"

"We have a new client." Amelia came into the study excitedly. Enola's question went unanswered, but not forgotten.

"Speaking of cases." Wilhelm whispered as Amelia approached causing Enola to regain a cheerier disposition.

Amelia gave each of them a kiss on the cheek before proceeding. "Man was framed for a mob hit with the promise from the mobster that his family would be taken care of, but – surprise, surprise – no help came and the family is under financial stress and there's rumor of a shank going to happen soon on the man in question."

"Ok," Wilhelm looked at the file that Amelia gave him with all the information. "A jailbreak for an innocent jailbird and exposing an evil mob boss. This should be fun."

Whether or not the heist fits the general description of fun Enola enjoyed herself. She was very thankful that she had fallen into the hands of the Lehrers. She was not one to linger on the 'what if' questions that haunt the minds of so many people. But every so often she would wondered if she had stayed in Britain how her life would have turned out. With that line of thought she was only certain of one thing, she would not know how to pick a lock.

For this particular con the Lehrers called upon their friend Hatch, one of Enola's tutors who taught her the skill of computer hacking. Since the FBI was already conducting their own surveillance the mobster's house it made reconnaissance easier to just piggy back on their signal than try to create their own. Hatch, not being one to waste an opportunity, also hacked into their database mostly to see the current warrants and such. He found something that intrigued him and brought it to the attention of Wilhelm after the con.

There was much tears and rejoicing as the now exonerated man went to hug his children and wife after being so long denied the pleasure. The con artists slipped away during the happy reunion but not before Wilhelm left a large envelope containing the amount of money that was promised to the family by the mobster.

Wilhelm and Hatch met up in an old bar that was near the Lehrer's loft apartment in a more artist part of the city where the dark wooden walls were thick with history and the air filled with pipe smoke and soft music of a bygone era. Each man had a drink before Hatch began discussing his findings.

"Dr. Lehrer, I don't know who this Enola Holmes is or why you're interested in her, but you're not the only one looking for her." Hatch said pulling out printouts of his findings from a folder. 'Over the past three years about once every three to four months a missing person search is done on her conducted by two different sources."

"Do you know who?" Wilhelm looked over the papers, slowly taking a sip from his scotch.

"Just the IP addresses for now." Hatch pointed to the information. "One search is done in Boston and the other in London."

"How successful were the searches?"

"Every single search has turned up nothing. This girl effectively disappeared off the face of the earth, which is quite a feat in this day and age I might add. I would definitely want to meet her just to find out how she did that."

"Anything else you can tell me?"

"Yes – the way that the searches were done strikes me as odd." Hatch took a sip from his own drink, enjoying the smoky burn before continuing. "It was like these weren't official searches. I mean they were done legally, no doubt, but . . . well, let me put it like this: if I was a Fed and needed to do something that I didn't want my boss to find out, I do it like this." Hatch pointed to the papers on the table.

"Like paying back a favor to someone or a personal inquiry." Wilhelm mused.

"That's some possibility." Hatch agreed. "Another thing, one of my internet creeping programs picked up her name in a missing person database in Great Britain. Went missing from her home four years ago. Last person to see her was an older brother."

"She had any other family?"

"A mom and two brothers with quite an age gap between the three children." Hatch rifled through the papers and quickly found the printout he wanted to show Wilhelm. "The case went cold after seven months and five and half months after that she was officially declared dead."

"Did you find out how the family reacted to that?"

"Sorry, no. But I did find out that the searches started within the following month."

"So despite being declared dead there are at least two separate people who are looking for her. Obvious to say that these people believe her to be alive. This is wonderful work, Hatch." Wilhelm congratulated the hacker with a grateful smile.

"Who is she, Dr. Lehrer?" Hatch asked. He looked intently at Wilhelm, he wanted an answer. "Don't say it's not important. No one would put this effort into finding someone unless that person is important to them. And last time I checked everyone is important to someone."

Wilhelm looked at the computer hacker and thought. He found his first addition to the crew he was forming, a few more heists and Wilhelm will know for certain.

"I'm doing a favor for someone that involves the whereabouts of this girl." Wilhelm said only giving half of the truth with no lie. "This is really helpful Hatch."

Hatch seemed satisfied with the answer given him by the philosophic con artist and took another sip of his drink. Wilhelm picked up all the printouts and slipped into his briefcase. Hatch had given him quite a bit to think about; he had a mental note to call his contacts in Boston and London to see if they could find out anything in more detail.

The men finished their drinks and bid each other a good night.

Amelia was still up when Wilhelm came in, she was sitting at the dining room table reading.

"Good meeting?" She kissed her husband lightly on the lips.

"Very informative," he draped an arm around his wife's shoulders. "I think that we should look at Hatch as a more permanent addition for our crew."

"I like him," Amelia smiled. "He's very sweet and very good at what he does. What did he want to talk about?"

"Is Elle asleep?"

"Like she sleeps on a regular basis." Amelia pointed out. "She's on the roof with her camera. She wanted to do a series of photographs on the city at night."

"That's right," Wilhelm remembered that conversation that occurred from before their last con. "Well, Hatch wanted to talk about what he found on Enola Holmes."

He felt Amelia slightly stiffen next to him just before she stepped away to look at her husband.

"And how does he know of Enola Holmes?"

"I asked him to keep an eye out in his internet sweeps for the name Enola Holmes." Wilhelm explained. "Rest assured he does not know that Elle and Enola are one in the same."

Wilhelm sat at the table and Amelia returned to her seat. He then proceeded to tell his wife everything that Hatch had told him along with his plans for further investigations.

"Who do you suspect is looking for her?" Amelia asked when he was finished.

"Her brothers." Wilhelm shifted in his seat so he could lazily rest his head in his hand and to look at his wife.

"That makes sense," She mused also shifting to mirror Wilhelm. "Guilt can make people do strange things, even if they don't admit to the feeling. Should we tell Elle?"

"Not now, not until we have something more definitive." Wilhelm looked at his watch. "We must be abed for it is late."

To bed they went never realizing that the window was slightly ajar and, despite their best efforts, their voices carried upward to where Enola sat on the roof. She had finished taking pictures for a while and could not wait to develop the film using a new technique she just learned, but she heard Wilhelm and Amelia talking and stayed to listen.

The noises of the city would have usually made it difficult to hear such a soft conversation, but tonight was rather uncharacteristically quite and the open window aided in Enola's eavesdropping.

She did not know what to think when she heard that her brothers might be looking for her. On the one hand it did not surprise her that Mycroft and Sherlock would bend a few rules to find her, and on the other hand it surprised her that her brothers were even bothering looking for her. But as Amelia remarked, guilt makes people do strange things. She decided against acknowledging that she heard the conversation and would let the Lehrers tell her in their own good time.

Enola decided to call it a night when she heard several cars screeching to a stop then a minor crash, then yelling in several languages.

Ah, the sounds of New York City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know everyone is wanting a linear plot to develop, but this more more about Enola and snippets from her life. I will try to add more characters to the show as well as from the book series. Please remember that this is an updated version of the Enola Holmes Mystery series and I am working very hard to integrate it into the world of the BBC Sherlock.


	9. Crown Jewels Theft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now why would anyone steal the Crown Jewels?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set shortly after 'New Name'.

"I want you to say that again." The Prime Minister said to the aide who interrupted his one on one meeting with Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft looked on with a mix of curiosity and surprise, which is saying a lot since he is hardly surprised by anything.

"An unmarked package arrived for the Royal Family," The aide began again. All his hopes of a simple day went out the window as soon as the package landed on his desk. "Discovering it was lead lined it was open in a secure location as a precaution. The . . . " He mumbled the rest from embarrassment, that and Mycroft Holmes always made the aid feel a bit nervous.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to speak up." Mycroft prompted, there was only the slightest hint of boredom in his voice.

"The Crown Jewels were inside . . . with a note," The aide held up said note in an evidence bag.

Typed boldly in black was 'Too Easy'.

It was soon verified that the objects on display in the Tower of London were false and what was mailed to the Royal Family was real. A full investigation was launched as to how the jewels were taken without anyone realizing it. The theft was never publicized for fear of copycat attempts.

Mycroft became involved in the investigation on the fact that it might lead to a form of national security and it was quite odd. Which peaked the interest of the otherwise bored Mycroft.

Why steal the Crown Jewels only to give them back? - was the question that clung to the mind of everyone involved in the investigation.

Everything was reviewed with a fine tooth comb: security personnel, recordings, the case itself, the note and so forth. Mycroft did notice inconsistencies in the security recordings, very subtle and very well done. Whoever stole the Crown Jewels took recordings of the same time during a day of similar weather and blended it in on the day of the theft. Actually there were several recordings that this was done to, so there was many days on which the theft could have occurred. But outside of that there was nothing. Not even how the security system was hacked into. Nothing to point to who could have possibly have accomplished the theft.

The theft was very through and most likely new to the scene of crime. Mycroft hated to admit it but he was very impressed.

A week after the incident a typed letter, postmarked from Madrid, Spain, arrived at Mycroft's office, which contained an basic schismatics of how the robbery was done. It was missing details of how the thieves got in, how exactly the Crown Jewels were switched out and were mostly vague. Nothing to really identify the thief.

The letter explained that the items were in no real danger from the thieves explaining that the objects, despite the gold and jewels, had no real value in the Black Market for the very simple reason that they were too recognizable and breaking it into pieces would diminish the value too much to be worth it. The letter further explained that the partial plans of the theft were given to the British government as a professional curtsey and Mycroft could do with them as he wished. The letter ended with well wishes concerning the health of Mycroft.

Now to explain to the Prime Minister.

"I have to admit, the letter was a nice touch. I would pay to see his reaction when he opened it." Wilhelm Lehrer smiled as the gave Enola Holmes an one armed hug from the side as they walked to their terminal, pulling their carry-on bags behind them.

"I would pay more to see the reaction of the Prime Minister when he tells him." Enola joked.

"That would be interesting." Wilhelm looked pridefully at Enola. "You did good."

"Thanks," Enola did feel good. Her first solo theft went without a hitch and she would soon be established as a force to be contented with in the confidence game of the criminal world.

"I was a bit surprised that you wanted to come to England for your first solo act." Wilhelm remarked, discreetly getting a newspaper as they passed a newsstand when the clerk helping a customer, but he did leave money for the paper. They reached their terminal and sat to wait to board the plane. Spain was nice, but they wanted to get back home to New York City. "I know how much to hate coming to that country."

"My brothers always told me I could never pull anything pass them. Sherlock always said that I couldn't use my head to the fullest potential of my generic deposition for intelligence." Enola explained after a moment of thought. "I wanted to prove to them and myself that I could. And I hope that I did."

"How old were you when he said that?" Wilhelm asked.

"Ten." Enola stated.

"You were ten years old and your brother essentially called you stupid." He reiterated, mostly for himself.

"Never thought of it that way," Enola thought over his words. What surprised Wilhelm was that she was not upset, it was more along the lines of an academic who found a new perspective of an age old theory. Also she was not upset by it.

"Did they say a lot of things like that to you?"

"It was their way of giving me constructive criticism to, how did Sherlock put it?" Enola thought for a moment then smirked when she remembered. "Ah yes, 'to improve my person'."

"You remember everything they ever said to you." Wilhelm remarked shaking his head in slight disbelief.

"And how they said it, the weather of that day, what they were wearing – " Enola began.

"Yes, alright." Wilhelm cut her off with a smile. "You can stop showing off now."

"I have no idea to what you could be referring to." Enola spoke with feigned ignorance and an attempt of an angelic smile, but it came out gleeful conspiratorial.

Wilhelm smiled at Enola and opened the newspaper. "When we get back there's a politician taken bribes from a pharmaceutical company with questionable research practices that we need to look into."

"Political coup – fun." Enola leaned back in her seat and pulled out her sketch book to past the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Enola is having a bit of fun at the expense of her brothers. Wouldn't you in her place?


	10. Almost Unexpectant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were all going to have to talk sooner or later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the idea that started this whole story. I do hope you enjoy.  
> Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favored, or put this on story alert.
> 
> Set shortly after 'Scandal in Belgravia'.

"Well it seems Jupiter has descended upon me!" Enola said as she was escorted into Mycroft's office using her best American accent. Mycroft looked up from his tea to his sister at her remark. "I'm actually somewhat surprised you were able to find me Mycroft. The overly intimidating escorts, I must say, were a nice touch and the accessories they slapped on me, however," She held up her handcuffed wrists to prove her point. "Clash terribly with my outfit."

"Where's Jenson?" Mycroft eyed his agent carefully when he noticed one was missing.

"He received a bloody nose from Miss. Holmes where she tried to get away and had to get medical attention." The agent explained nervously and somewhat embarrassed. "We had to resort to handcuffing her, sir. She wouldn't come peacefully."

The sight of Enola in handcuffs was one that Mycroft never wanted to see. It was right up there with Sherlock dead from drugs when he did not get enough 'interesting' cases. Despite the fact that she was a criminal he still wanted to try to protect his sister, especially since he did a terrible job at it when she was very young.

"For the record, Jenson totally deserved the bloody nose." She interjected holding up her hands in a mock surrender, well as best she could with them cuffed. "Now that I'm here can these things be removed?"

Mycroft took the key from the agent and dismissed him. "Those men are highly trained. How on earth did you manage to give one a bloody nose?"

"The other one has a hairline fracture in his left foot." Enola supplied as Mycroft removed the handcuffs. They shared a look that both expressed annoyance at the other. Enola looked well since Mycroft last saw her with only a few scrapes from the scuffle she got into with his agents. Enola could see that Mycroft was under stress, he could hide the minor signs of him just barely fraying at the edges from his subordinates but never from his sister. "I learned to fight from a retired Mossad field agent."

"What else have you been taught by these thieves?"

"To be honest I freaked. I did not realize that they were your people until after the scuffle had started." She looked somewhat apologetically at Mycroft. He knew she was purposely avoiding answering any questions that concerned the people she worked and decided not to push the issue for the present.

"Why would you 'freak'?" Mycroft motioned her to one of the two chairs in front of his desk and he sat in the other one.

"I said 'no' one too many times for someone and he wasn't happy about it." She explained sitting down. This was odd. They were having a conversation, something that Enola always wanted to so with her brothers since she was young. Enola had lost count of the times she wished in her childhood to have a simple conversation with Mycroft or Sherlock without the cutting remarks. But there was something in Mycroft's manner that kept Enola on edge. "He expressed his displeasure. So about half of the criminal world is out to get me in hopes of gain some sort of favor from him. I've already had several attempts on my life and they keep increasing in frequency. It was Moriarty I said 'no' to, in case you were wondering."

"How many times?" Mycroft observed his sister carefully. She was uncomfortable in his office, her eyes darting around taking everything in, looking for possible escape routes. She had always been uncomfortable around Mycroft growing up, but he had attributed that to the age difference. But she did her best to conceal her discomfort behind her act of command, an act she did very well.

"He's tired of the ordinary challenge." She said ignoring his question. Talking about Moriarty made her feel unwell. She never really told anyone how much that particular Irishman unsettled her. She had seen his work and the results of his work up close and personal. Talking to him in person several times, well, it was an experience that Enola did not wish to repeat and wanted to forget.

Enola also felt that she was trapped in the governmental office and she felt stifled. The other side of the law was much more comfortable to her. It was not because the law was something she saw as intrinsically evil, it was just that the criminals she worked with seemed more human than her own brothers who worked with the law.

"And you have challenged him." Mycroft remarked.

"I'm not the only one." She leaned forward enough to let her hands rest on the armrests of the chair. "Whispers came about some time ago, some time after I gave you my file on him, that Moriarty had become obsessed with a private detective in London. I called in a few favors to find out who. You can imagine my surprise when Sherlock's name came up. Well, I wasn't really surprised, but my concern for him increased. And I wondered what my eldest brother was doing with the information I gave him concerning that particular threat."

Mycroft said nothing to this, he had nothing to say, it was his turn to ignore the question. The whole affair was rather complex and tiresome and did not wish to discuss it with his sister at the moment, he had other things on his mind. He stood to retrieve a file he had locked in the confines of his desk.

"As I understand it you have become quite a legend in the criminal underworld." He leaned against the front of his desk, opened the file and began to read the highlights. He saw that Enola blanched slightly when he spoke, but she said nothing keeping perfect composure. "You have been involved in one of the most successful criminal groups of the past decade, not to mention the most imaginative. Every heist pulled that is credited to your group can never be definitively placed at your door. The result of the combination of people unwilling to testify against you and a lack of physical edvience. It's gotten to a point were other thieves will drop whatever crime they are going to do if the mere mention of your group having a group in the area."

"You have a dossier on me?" Enola grabbed the file and quickly began to rummage through it.

"But oddly enough," Mycroft continued as Enola flipped through the file. "Every single one of your marks never report in your activities. Mostly because it has been revealed that they themselves have been involved in their own illegal activities that broader on the inhumane. The police are able to make an arrest with the evidence that most conveniently appears. An anonymous tip, if you will."

Enola paused in her reading of the file. "My name and picture aren't anywhere to be found in this dossier. Or any of the names of my crew or associates. This is simply a collection of reports on odd cons and heists that have occurred all over Europe and America." She cautiously looked at her brother who was regarding her carefully. He took the file back from her and dropped it on his desk.

"What exactly do you do, Enola?" Mycroft asked.

"You seem to know exactly what I do." She retorted crossing her arms in a defiant stance and turning away from Mycroft. "You were always the smartest one of us all, abet slightly lazy."

"I would prefer if you told me yourself. You seem to lack the usual motivations that drives people to break the law." Mycroft sat behind his desk and waited for Enola to speak.

"Two years ago I told you that I help people." She started after careful consideration. She returned to her seat. "The laws of man are full of loopholes. Bad people find those loopholes and use them to exploit those with less privilege. I simply step in where the law stops or is simply limited. I maybe a criminal, but I'm not a bad person. None of us are.

"How was that for a confession?" She asked sarcastically. "Is that why you had me man-handled here? Going to haul me off to jail now? I won't give you names of my associates or – "

"I don't want a confession or to arrest you." Mycroft stated taking a sip of his now lukewarm tea. "I want to hire you."

There were many things going through Enola's mind at the moment concerning her brother's motivation in bring her to his office, but Mycroft's last remark was one that she never fathomed. He always did keep her on her toes.

"If this was anyone but you," She began slowly. "I would think that this was an overly complicated attempt to get me to expose myself and my crew, to get us arrested by the British government on the bases of national security.

"But with you, Mycroft – no, you would get explicit proof of my activities before arresting me, you're thorough that way. The lack of names and pictures in that dossier speaks volumes. You could very easily attach my name to those crimes and then just as easily find out who my crew is, but you haven't. You're protecting me from the very people to whom you swear loyalty. The reason for such an action – I'm not quite sure what it is.

"You're not one to place blood before Queen and Country. It's not in your nature." Enola made her way around the desk. She wanted nothing between them to act a figurative shield or fence as she spoke to Mycroft. "This is desperation – a man like you with the connections you have wouldn't come to a person like me unless he had no other place to go.

"You can't go to your supervisors – they want you to do something you are hating. Your hands are practically tied." Enola leaned forward to be able to look eye to eye with her seated brother. "Does this have something to do with Moriarty?"

Mycroft nodded and Enola stepped back. They considered each other as they now saw each other in a very different light.

Her brother never asked her for help and it scared her that he now did.

His sister was no longer the silent meek child and it impressed him.

"You are one of several contingency plans I have considered depending on how things play out." Mycroft said.

"Contingency plan – I'll take that as a compliment." "Enola murmured as she walked to the window. "What exactly do you need me for?"

"I need you to forge identification papers along with the appropriate paper trail." Mycroft explained. He looked at his watch, it was almost time for his other guest to arrive. "Anything to convince the world that this new identity exists."

"Your office can supply an alternate identity for their own people." Enola pointed out. "Common black op protocol."

"It can't have an official government connection." Mycroft clarified. "Especially not to me."

"There are ways around that, which are perfectly legal. Are you trying to disappear?"

"It's not for me."

"For who than?" A confused Enola turned just as the office doors opened with some force by the second guest.

"Mycroft, I was in the middle – " Sherlock began but stopped at the sight of Enola who lost all color in her face. "Well this is almost unexpected." He added uncharacteristically quiet before glaring at Mycroft.


	11. Difficult Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They plot, they plan, they talk; what all siblings do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the previous chapter.

Enola Holmes watched as her brothers exchanged witty cutting insults between them.

Sherlock was not happy with Mycroft's plan despite the difficult circumstance Mycroft found himself in, which he was unclear about. He was also upset that Enola had been to Britain several times without his knowledge. She thought it was mostly because she went to see Mycroft before himself, but with Sherlock one could never be sure.

Mycroft was growing annoyed at Sherlock's childishness and how he was treating Moriarty as just a game to be played. Moriarty was not just a simple puzzle to be played.

Enola retreated into herself as she had often done in their youth. This scene was nothing new. The arguments between the Holmes boys increased in frequency since the death of their father. Enola was too young at the time to find a voice to speak her opinion to her overbearing and much older brothers, so she stopped using her voice altogether for a number of years.

But that was before and this was now and she had had enough. Now, she had a voice.

"If you two don't stop bickering, I swear I will steal the Crown Jewels again, and this time I will cause an international incident!" She practically shouted at them.

Mycroft and Sherlock looked at her, both wearing a surprised and confused expression. "Again?" They both asked at the same time without realizing it.

"Yes, again." Enola was annoyed, it had almost been almost seven years since all three Holmes children were in the same room together and nothing seemed to have change except for their ages. She then realized after a moment that she just gave her brothers a blatant example of her modus operandi and she was mentally slapping herself for it.

"Ok, even though this was a nice trip down memory lane," She started sarcastically but then got serious. "But I would really like to know if I have a job here. If so, I need a few tidbits of information from Sherlock before I can get started."

She got two very different yet equally vocal answers from her brothers, Mycroft being in the positive and Sherlock's being a vehement negative. If it had been any other situation and not involving the Holmes boys, their well timed opposite responses would have been considered comedic, but it only served to cause Mycroft and Sherlock to look at each other with annoyance.

"Sherlock, will you stop being so difficult?" Mycroft chided his younger brother after he had controlled his frustration.

"This is ridiculous." Sherlock said glaring at his siblings. "There shouldn't even be a need for this sort of a plan."

"Well now there is because you had to go off and have a little fun with Jim Moriarty." Enola spoke through gritted teeth. She wondered how difficult it would be to get out through the window. "Plus I've always found having multiple identities useful."

"That's because you're nothing more than a common thief." Sherlock snapped at her. He was actually disappointed in her choice of career. "Why are you talking like an American?"

"A very accomplished thief." She also snapped and ignored his second question. "One that you could never catch."

"Is that a challenge?" Sherlock edged away from Mycroft to Enola, glaring at her.

"It's a fact, brother mine!" Enola also took a step towards him, also glaring. "You also wouldn't be able to tell the difference between my forgeries and the real thing!"

"It only further proves that you are incapable of doing anything proper the intellect for which you were genetically predisposed." Sherlock snapped taking a few more steps towards his wayward sister.

"Enough!" Mycroft physically put himself between his two younger siblings before they got any closer. "Sherlock, we need her help."

"No I don't." Sherlock hissed at Mycroft not taking his eyes off of Enola. She returned the glare with equal intensity. Enola would not dare let the hurt from Sherlock's previous remark show through her features.

"Of course the great Sherlock Holmes need no help from any mere mortal." Enola threw her hands in the air in frustration. "Mycroft, unless you're going to arrest me for something or other, I'll be on my way."

"Stay put." Mycroft pointed at her. Enola would have ignored the command and would have taken a drive out the window, but there was a pleading underneath his commanding tone that she could not take lightly. Mycroft never pleaded. "Sherlock, shut up."

Mycroft told them to sit down and try not to start any international incident while he was gone. His tone broached no argument from either of them. He had to go talk with his personal assistant, he had not picked up the name she was currently using, and tell her to reschedule his appointments, clear the rest of his day and to bring in some tea. It was going to be a long day with his siblings.

Sherlock and Enola sat in front of Mycroft's desk. Sherlock had his hands pressed together and eyes closed in thought and Enola clasped her hands together in her lap and eyes open observing.

"Yes," Enola said. "To answer the question."

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked over to her. "What question?"

"Yes, you and Mycroft were the reasons I left." She said, keeping her eyes forward. "Even mummy to a certain extent. Are you upset that you couldn't find me?"

Sherlock humphed.

"Translation – yes." They fell into silence waiting for Mycroft to return. Enola never thought that her brothers would come to her for help. But with Jim Moriarty one learned to expected the unexpected. How she hated that man.

Sherlock would never admit to anyone that his younger sister had eluded him. Outwit him in her disappearance. When she left he looked all over Britain to find her, mostly for Mummy. Sherlock clearly remembered how their mother had become somewhat of a recluse and he thought the solution was to find his sister. The police were little help on the matter and the case grew cold after two years. But by that time it was less for Mummy's sake and more for Sherlock's own want for a challenge. Also for the fact that he was worried, not that he would admit that to anyone. He noticed that she had shifted in her seat and was giving him a curious look.

"Ask your question." He said allowing her the curtsey of giving her eye contact.

"Did you miss me?" She asked. Such an innocent question, one that caused Sherlock to lose the power of speech. The question was not one he expected.

When he did not answer Enola allowed a small sad smile to grace her features and turned away. His silence spoke volumes to her. By the time Sherlock found his voice to answer Mycroft entered the room and the chance to answer the question was gone.

They spent the good bit of the afternoon together and Enola collected information. She was very professional and gave little information herself, despite both Mycroft and Sherlock gently, or not so gently, prodding for answers about her line of work and who she works with.

"You've met Moriarty?" Sherlock was surprised by this revelation.

"It would be more correct to say that Moriarty has met Elle," Enola said as she wrote several notes down. They had move from planning the identity to trying to figure out what Moriarty had planned for Sherlock. "He doesn't know of my relation to you."

"So whatever he has planned, he's not considering you." Sherlock remarked, his mind now racing with new ideas and connections.

"Come again, brother mine." Enola prompted.

"Mycroft I now see why you to went to Enola." Sherlock got up and started pacing.

"Because I'm a thief who can forge very convincing vital documents." Enola said a bit confused. The lack of sleep was catching up with her from the week long con and she was not really in the mood to have her brothers plan something that involved her but did not inform her as such.

"You're the variable in the equation that Moriarty doesn't considered." Mycroft said taking a sip of his tea.

"The loophole he doesn't see." Sherlock added, still pacing.

"The unseen factor." Mycroft concluded.

"I see." Enola said after she took in what they said. For some reason she felt unsure of herself and she hated that. She put down her pen and walked to the window as she made connections in her mind from her childhood to now.

"Enola?" Sherlock asked when he noticed her sudden change in demeanor.

"I should get going," Enola returned to her chair to grab all her things. "I have things to get done, things to steal, people to see."

She started towards the office door, but she stop and turned around to face her brothers. Her lips were pressed together as she considered something, coming to a decision pulled out a card and handed it to Mycroft.

Then she ran like hell out of there.

Memories she kept down in the deepest part of her mind raced towards her consciousness bombarding her emotions. But she kept it together and signaled for a cab. Her mind was racing over what her brothers had told her and was so caught up in her thoughts that she did not notice Sherlock also getting in the cab close behind her until it was too late.

"What are – "

"Regency Park." Sherlock told the cabbie and the drive obliged. "We need to talk."

They rode in silence not wanting the cabbie to hear what they were to say. Enola gazed out the window and Sherlock would glance at her every so often as if to make sure she was actually there.

They got out of the cab and Enola paid. As soon as the cab was out of sight she felt Sherlock firmly, but gently, take hold of her elbow.

"Don't run away." He said or was it pleading, Enola could not tell which, but she hated how easily Sherlock could read her intentions. She nodded and they took a turn about in the park.

"Why here?" She asked dropping her American accent. The change in manner of speech earned a subtle surprised look from Sherlock, then she realized that her brothers never heard her speak without sounding American. She had only said a few things just before she disappeared so her native accent would be unfamiliar to them.

"You were coming here anyway." He stated.

"True," Enola agreed. "So what did you want to talk about?"

"You."

"That's a rather boring topic." Enola kept her eyes on the path before her. Another odd moment. Like with Mycroft earlier, she was a having a conversation with Sherlock. Enola began to wonder if the world was about to end or something just as drastic and dull, too many odd things were happening to her today.

"Not to me." Sherlock insisted.

Enola stopped walking and Sherlock did as well after taking a few more steps. "Why do you care?" She asked. "Dad always said, 'Caring isn't an advantage.'"

"I don't," He said. "Don't say 'dad', it sounds too American." He added with a bit of a sneer.

Enola could have pointed out that she spoke more in America than she ever did in Britain, thus spoke their euphemisms more readily. But that would open another avenue of conversation that she did not what to get into at the moment. So resisted the urge to roll her eyes or sigh and said nothing.

"I am worried. I looked for you, as often as I could, after you left." Sherlock continued.

"I know you looked. You have eyes and ears all over the place." She softly echoed the words she had once said to Mycroft so many years ago. She started walking again and Sherlock joined her when she reached him.

They walked without any real reason other than it was something to do. Each mind was occupied by different thoughts: Enola was wondering how to make a clean getaway, Sherlock was trying to decide which of his many question he wanted to ask next.

"Why Mycroft?" Sherlock finally asked that question because it annoyed him the most.

"Your ego is busied because I went to see Mycroft first?" Enola laughed mirthlessly. "I went to see him first because you would have been too gleeful with the information I had on Moriarty. Probably race off to meet him because he's interesting to you.

"It was shortly after I ran into him in Paris," She explained. "He was involved in some long term con that would have culminated in London. It involved a forgery of a painting done by a Dutch Master, I never learned which Master though. Moriarty wanted be to help forge the provenance of the painting. As a professional curtsey I don't do that."

"A thief with standards." Sherlock remarked sarcastically.

Enola did her best not to glare at Sherlock. "Yes, I have standards. Morals and ethics too."

"Sarcasm does not suit you." He said annoyed.

"And beating around the bush doesn't suit you." She said with equal annoyance. She stopped walking and grabbed his arm so he would stop too and be forced to face her. "Why follow me here, Sherlock?"

"Your behavior changed in Mycroft's office." Sherlock spoke low and quickly, a habit Enola remembered him developing when he was deducing but did not quite have all the pieces yet. "Why?"

"Because . . . despite what you claim, I'm still not a sister to you or Mycroft." It was difficult to get the words out, but she handled herself quite admirably.

Before Sherlock could respond Enola's phone rang. They looked at each other a moment longer before she broke eye contact and pulled out her phone to read the text.

"I have to go." She said pulling out another card and giving it to Sherlock.

Glancing at the card he saw that it was a phone number above which she wrote 'Call if you need me'. He looked back up to his sister, but she was gone. Sherlock cursed under his breath as he scanned the park looking for Enola amongst the other occupants of the park. After about thirty minutes of searching Sherlock was forced to admit that his sister had alluded him – again.


	12. Museum Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A run-in no one saw coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a year before 'Job Offer'.

"Uh-oh," Enola said softly with a mixture of surprise, worry and shock as she looked past Amelia's shoulder.

The two ladies decided to enjoy some one on one time as Wilhelm and Hatch were busy, and what could be more relaxing that to enjoy a cup of coffee in a Parisian cafe watching people go by and wonder about them.

Well, they were enjoying themselves until Enola saw someone. Amelia looked behind her and saw a tall lean man with dark curly hair wearing a long dark blue jacket walking in their direction. She turned back to Enola.

"Someone you know?" Amelia asked taking a sip of her coffee. "And do I need to shoot them?"

"What is he doing in Paris of all places?" Enola asked to no one in particular not hearing Amelia's questions.

"Elle!" Amelia lightly hit the table hoping it would get Enola's attention, which it did. "Who is it, and do I need to shoot them?"

"Sherlock." Enola explained with the slightest hint of worry in her voice. Amelia could even pick up the even subtler hints of panic in Enola's voice.

"Sherlock, your brother Sherlock?" Amelia knew it was a silly question to ask, it was not as if she knew that many men named Sherlock, but the question gave her time to think of a plan.

"We should get going." Enola reached down to get her satchel.

"Afraid I'll shoot him?" Amelia asked, feigning innocent which earned her a glare from Enola.

"Sherlock will see me soon enough." Enola countered. With her satchel in hand she made ready to leave. Amelia could not help but see beyond Enola's calm expression how her mind was racing about thinking and planning, all with the underlining of fear.

"It's been years since he last saw you." Amelia pointed out while putting her hand on Enola's as a subtle sign to stay in their seats. "Do you really think he will recognize you?"

"Yes." Enola said without hesitation and then made another attempt to leave.

"Don't move," Amelia gently ordered. "He'll definitely notice if we move. So we must . . ."

"Hide in plain sight." Enola finished after Amelia trailed off, which she did often when prompting Enola to remember a lesson.

"Any ideas?" Amelia asked leaning in.

"Be dull – tourists." Enola said. Amelia smiled and pulled out a map from her pocket book, unfolded it and gave one side to Enola.

"Nothing duller than a pair of tourists in the middle of Paris." Amelia smiled at the simplicity of the plan.

They spent the next few moments planning a route through the city that they would never take as Sherlock walked past them. He barely registered them in his mind. It was not until he disappeared around a corner that the women stopped their charade. Amelia put away the map and Enola put her face in her hands.

"I always feel pathetic around my brothers." Enola spoke through her hands. "He didn't even notice me and I am still shaking."

Amelia contemplated on how to respond to Enola's statement, but was unable to say anything because of the reappearance of Wilhelm and Hatch. They were able to finish casing the museum with little problem and Wilhelm had a brilliant but, as always, crazy con planned.

"That's the basic plan." Wilhelm said at last looking at Amelia.

"You noticed something else." Enola remarked looking intently at Wilhelm.

"You are scarily good at that." Hatch commented. Enola just politely rolled her eyes

"What did you see?" Enola asked.

"We weren't the only ones casing the museum." Wilhelm explained; pausing to casually smile at their waiter who gave them their coffee. After the waiter was gone all four of them leaned in slightly. "It appears that they are after the same collection we're interested in, and there are signs of a robbery but the museum is trying to keep it under wraps. To stay on the side of caution we need to speed up the pace of the con."

"We're going to need an extra set of hands." Amelia pointed out.

"We could call in Lupin." Hatch suggested taking a sip of his coffee. "He loves museum jobs and I hear Tekla is also in town working with him, her specialty is museums."

Wilhelm looked thoughtfully at Hatch. "The question then comes to mind, would they accept the terms of our alternate revenue?"

"This is essential charity work when you really think about it." Amelia said musing over the options. "Our client really can't pay what that painting costs."

"Monsieur Lupin will," Enola said. She was not really drinking her coffee, just holding the cup. The appeal of drinking her coffee had died for her when she had seen Sherlock. "He's one of the few professionals who still refers to themselves as a 'gentleman thief'. Besides, he loves a challenge. Tekla, also not a problem; paying her the percent of this job, if it was less than charitable, would still be within our budget."

"Also that drug company we took down last week," Hatch pulled out his smart phone. "Doing what I do, I was able to play the stock market and make quite the sum. We could basically retire with this score, if we wanted."

He showed everyone else the numbers.

"Can't argue with that lovely series of zeros." Amelia remarked, glancing at her husband. "Good thing I still have the number for their phones and not just their burners. Well?

"Call them." Wilhelm consented. "Invite them to dinner."

-MHSHEH-

"You always have the best cons." Arsène Lupin declared with gusto after reviewing the plan. They had settled into the lounge of the Lehrer's hotel suite after dinner for coffee and to plan. "Rightful ownership has always been dubious for this work of art since 1951, but I have uncovered a few things that is in your client's favor."

Arsène handed Hatch an UBS drive which Hatch opened and read the files. "These documents basically prove that our client is the rightful owner of the painting, legally. I couldn't even find these!"

"Do I even want to know how you got these?" Wilhelm asked with a hint of boredom, but with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Mon ami, I have my ways." Arsène winked at Enola, who was confused by the gesture. Amelia was not surprised by it. Enola could understand the basic act of flirting, when she saw other people attempt it. But when it came to men genuinely flirting with her, Enola could not make heads or tails of it or any genuine emotions for that matter.

Arsène Lupin was a genuine gentleman thief. Born to a very wealthy family in France, he had little cause to seek employment and had all the charms and social graces that caused girls to swoon in his presence. It also helped that he was very handsome and he knew how to use that to his advantage. He allowed his good looks to allow people think that they was not much going on in his head, but Arsène did not become a very accomplish thief based on his looks alone.

Growing bored of parties and mindless entertainment Arsène turned to thievery and was instantly hooked on the thrill and adventure such a turn against the law offered. He usually avoids violence while restricting his targets to those who can afford the loss, which was one of the main reasons he was able to get along with the Lehrers so well.

"Which includes flirting with every female file clerk from here to Milan." Tekla interjected with a playful seductive smile on her face.

Tekla Guensert, the best actress the world would never applaud for, sat next to Arsène. Tekla, if that was really her name, had the great ability to become anyone with little variation to her own physical looks. A simple cock of the head, timing of blinks, the shifting of stance or swing of hips Tekla could take and make a whole new person. She once convinced an American Federal profiler in a White Crimes unit that she was a innocent bystander in a crime she, herself, committed. Tekla was so good at becoming someone else that one had to wonder if they were talking with the real con artist or an act of the con artist. She, like Arsène, only targeted people who could afford the loss.

"Ah, what can I say? J'suis Français." Arsène said with a flourish. "I must advise caution with this job."

"Why?" Wilhelm asked.

"As a result of the earlier failed robbery the museum brought in a consultant for Britain for extra security," Telka explained as she poured a fresh cup of coffee. "Apparently, according to Arsène, this consultant is brilliant if not eccentric."

"What's the name?" Amelia asked despite the nagging feeling that she knew the answer.

"A Monsieur Sherlock Holmes." Arsène said. Enola tensed ever so slightly and Wilhelm quickly glanced at her before looking back at Arsène. Amelia sighed, not really enjoying the fact that she was correct. The Frenchmen did not miss the movements. "Have you met him?"

"No," Wilhelm sipped his coffee. "Just heard about him. You?"

"Once," Arsène smirked. "It was an experience that I would never exchange for anything. We crossed paths when I was doing a job in London. He certainly pushed me to be in top form."

"So with the British consultant and the second crew involved it's going to be a tight game." Wilhelm said as he looked thoughtfully at Tekla. "How well versed are you in 19th century poetry?"

"Well," Tekla gave him a most feline smile. "Give me a few hours and I will be a world expert."

-MHSHEH-

"I must say Mr. Holmes that was very impressive work." Sherlock did his best not to snap at the woman next to him as he watched the arrested thieves being taken away by the police. The woman next to him was Alice Wynn, a Canadian professor taking a sabbatical in Paris to do research. "I never knew one could learn so much about a person from so small a detail. But as they say 'the devil's in the details'."

She giggled at her own joke with girlish annoyance. Sherlock could only look at her. Alice Wynn had the unfortunate ability to remind him of Molly Hooper with her girlish giggles and uncomely manner of dress. He could not understand how someone who acted so silly could become a teacher and that parents would let her so near developing minds. Despite this she was able to contribute to the capture of the art thieves. At least her stupid bumbling teacher's assistant was no where in sight. The assistant was more annoying than the teacher with her inability to properly hold on to anything or to form coherent words; she could not even answer a simple question put to her without the teacher prompting her to answer.

"M. Holmes," A Sous-brigadier quickly approached the pair. "The Inspector General has a few more questions for you, si-vous-plait."

Glad to get away from the silly teacher, Sherlock went willingly with the Sous-brigadier.

"It was a pleasure meeting you Mr. Holmes." Alice waved to Sherlock as he left. He did not care if she saw him roll his eyes or not. She sighed contently and made her way to the car that was waiting for her around the corner. When she got in she smiled broadly at the driver.

"Was that completely necessary?" Wilhelm asked the grifter as he pulled away into the traffic.

"Absolutely." Tekla's grin turned mischievous. She scratched at the blond wig she decided to wear. As much fun as it was to play a blond Tekla could not wait to return to her dark locks. "I just proved that the Master of Deduction could not deduce the truth about me. My grifting skills have been unknowingly validated by Sherlock Holmes."

"Very happy for you." Wilhelm remarked with an uninterested tone. Tekla only laughed at Wilhelm's sarcasm despite the underlining reason for his less-than-happy mood.

"Elle did a good job as my assistant. She was able to cover her mistake very well." Tekla offered. "I doubt if anyone noticed."

"One person did." Wilhelm pointed out. The last thing he needed was for one of Enola's brothers to uncover the con and blow their entire operation. He watched the way Sherlock thought and it was similar to the way Enola thought and even himself. It would have been very easy for Sherlock to find out about their con if he had not been distracted by the more blatant mistake the other thieves made.

"I doubt if that detective made any connection." Tekla countered. "And Elle was able to play him, pointing him away from her error. More experienced grifters I know wouldn't be able to cover as well as she did. She is very quick on her feet."

"And I applaud her for it." Wilhelm said risking a glance at Tekla before the light changed. "But there should not have been a need for it. She was just to be another face in the crowd as she picked the guard's pocket, not draw attention to herself."

Tekla saw his point and they spoke no more on the subject as they rode.

They returned to the hotel and Wilhelm escorted Tekla to her suite before going to his own. Amelia had fallen asleep in the lounge on the couch with a book forgotten in her lap. He smiled at his sleeping wife before kissing her softly on her temple.

Wilhelm found Enola where he suspected. Standing in her room of the suite by the window staring out into the city that began to light as the sky was darkening. She stood with her arms crossed in silent meditation observing the people in the streets going about their lives unawares that they were being watched. Her mind was filled with memories of her brothers; she wanted to remember the happier times of her early youth, but the reminders of what started her fear kept interfering.

Enola lifted her head slightly when she heard the bedroom door open. She knew what Wilhelm wanted to talk about, it needed to be talked about.

"You made a mistake." Wilhelm stated as he closed the door behind him.

"I know." Enola agreed quietly. She uncrossed one of her arms and unconsciously began to fiddle with the small delicate silver cross necklace that Amelia's parents had given her for her birthday a few years ago.

"One that could have easily been avoided." He added taking a few steps into the room.

"I know." She continued to watch the people in the street. They seemed so content with their lives as some laughed and others shouted. If anyone wished to study mankind the best stop was to it from a window where the people under observation could not see the observer.

"Do you know how much you messed up?" He asked. Wilhelm did not raise his voice, he was not angry, but Enola could hear the disappointment in his voice.

"Enough to almost blow the operation." Enola heard Wilhelm move to her bed and sat down. "I know that saying 'I'm sorry' is insufficient."

"If facing your brother is so difficult, why didn't you step away from the con? We had enough hands on deck to assist." Wilhelm watched her carefully. There was something bothering her; she was acting too much like she had when he had first met her; too quiet, too withdrawn. Pushing her into talking with him would make her even more withdrawn, so Wilhelm waited for her to speak first.

"I didn't think – "

"You certainly didn't do that." Wilhelm admonished.

"I didn't think that seeing Sherlock or working in such proximity with him would throw me off balance so much." Enola continued, accepting Wilhelm's quiet scolding and turned to face him. She should have looked upset, but did not. That set Wilhelm's mind racing with the analytical data he was collecting from his observation of her.

"You're terrified of them." He finally said.

Enola said nothing, but looked away confirming what Wilhelm stated. Tears threaten to form in her eyes but she kept control having many years of practice of not crying.

"You're not just afraid of going back to an unhappy household with an emotional stifled family but genuinely scared to death of your family." Wilhelm felt stupid for not seeing the signs before hand, granted there were not that many opportunity for Wilhelm or Amelia to observe Enola interaction with her family. One could only learn so much from the after affects. "Talk with me." He requested softly, this was something that could not be discussed at a later time, it was something that needed to be talked about now.

"My father was a very manipulative man," Enola began softly, not trusting her voice. "Despite my youth I remember that quite clearly. Manipulation was a trait that all three of us inherited from him. Mycroft uses it in his governmental power plays, Sherlock uses it to get information and I . . ."

"Yes," Wilhelm gently prompted.

"I use it to survive." She said at last. "I used it against my family just so they would stop. Stop saying I could do better, I should be doing better, that I was failing to live up to their standards. In the streets of New York I used it – convincing men with hungry eyes I wasn't worth their time, convincing people with guns that a bullet would be wasted on me.

"I hated how easily manipulation came to me. I wanted to cut it out of me, but it was too useful for me to even try." Enola spoke evenly but the threat of her emotions coming through was ever there. "I was about twelve when the fights between Mycroft and Sherlock became unbearable. Mostly because Sherlock had taken up a drug, speed of some sort, I never learned to particulars of it, when he was at school. Despite the fact that Sherlock was the only one taking the substance, it brought out the worse in both my brothers."

"And there I was in the middle of it all," Enola turned away from the window and walked to the bed. "Mute by choice, afraid my words would just make things worse for everyone. Things were said and actions were done that will forever effect us in how we relate to each other. Then came that fateful night shortly before my fourteenth birthday."

"The night you ran away." Wilhelm said. Enola nodded. Now the tears fell without Enola's consent, not that she noticed, she was too focus on the memory.

"My mother was away visiting a friend and it was the servants' night off with a half holiday the following day." Enola's eye glazed over as she thought back and Wilhelm watched her carefully. "Sherlock was home from school after my mother left and he had very bored at school apparently because the man who walked into the house looked like Sherlock but didn't act very much like him.

"I won't go into particulars of how he acted, but he had very high and was coming down from it. I got rid of the drugs he hid in his room from our mother and Mycroft and he wasn't very pleased with that sort of act. You must understand that Sherlock, by his nature, is not a very violent person but he took quite a bit and the withdrawal was not pleasant. When he was not violent I took care of him and cleaned the mess we had created in our fight, it was a strange pattern I must admit. But the Holmes family is anything but normal.

"What is that saying that Amelia always mumbles?" Enola mused as she sat on the bed. "Ah, yes, 'the straw that broke the camel's back'. Well that night was my straw and as soon as Sherlock had fallen asleep, I put him abed, and I left."

Wilhelm and Enola sat in silence thinking over what she had said. The silence was only broken when the bed creaked slighted as Wilhelm moved to bring Enola into his arms. She allowed herself to be held, she still had not grown comfortable with physical touch, such as a hug, despite Amelia hugging her every morning. But for Wilhelm, her surrogate father, Enola willingly let him hold her.

For the first time that Enola could remember, she cried letting all the years of holding back out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arsène Lupin is a fictional character that was written around the same time as Sherlock Holmes in France written by Maurice Leblanc. In his stories there was a Sherlock Holmes proxy character that Lupin faced off a few times named Herlock Sholmes. He's often described at the French counterpart to Sherlock Holmes. I couldn't resist not adding him to my little story.


	13. After Baskerville

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events at Baskerville, Sherlock simply needs to talk with someone.

Sherlock had been brooding since he and John returned from Baskerville. John could normally attribute that to Sherlock no longer having a case. Except it was not the usual brooding of Sherlock's boredom. He sat and stared blankly in front of him lost in thought.

After about a week of this behavior John had become very worried and working up to say something when Sherlock suddenly jumped up and texted someone on his phone.

"I'm going out." He announced grabbing his jacket as he headed out the door. "I'll shan't be gone long."

"You want me to come along?" John asked getting up from his chair. With the way Sherlock had been acting John did not want to leave him alone. Best not risk anything.

"No." And Sherlock was gone before John could say anything else.

Sherlock made his way to the agreed upon place in Regency Park. There were few people near the bench or in the park for that matter; it was not that sunny of a day to be visiting parks. Yet, here he was, waiting. He was not really expecting her to come. He was not even sure why he had texted her in the first place. But he did and now he waited.

"You wanted to see me?" The voice came from behind and Sherlock turned on the park bench to face his sister. The first thing he noticed that she was not speaking like an American; his face contoured in thought a little as he took in the rest of her appearance, making notes and deductions.

Enola shook her head as Sherlock examined her. Just once she wish he would not do that. "What?"

"What were you doing in Spain?" He asked wanting to know everything. Despite being a thief, her recent excursion to Spain had little to do with stealing anything and he wanted to know the reason. "And why were people shooting at you?"

"You wanted to see me?" She asked again side stepping his questions as she sat next to him on the bench on the opposite end not wanting to be too close. She actually was surprised to receive a text from her brother. As fate would have it she was in London setting up a new safe house for an Australian couple that got into business with the wrong sort of people and now were hiding until Wilhelm could find a way to get them out of trouble. Amelia was usually the one to set up the new home for the people they help, but she wanted Enola to take over that part of the business. Not being able to really say no to the Lehrers for such a relatively small request, Enola found herself in the city she hated.

"Doubt." Sherlock spoke rather abruptly. "You were plagued by it in out childhood."

"And the reason you're bringing it up now?" Enola asked hiding the stab of pain she felt from his words. She did not want to think on all the fights with their harsh words that her family had. She was in the process of closing that chapter of her life but these recent meetings with her brothers made it difficult.

"How did you get past that?"

Enola gaped at Sherlock trying to fully understand what he was asking. Something happen to him that now he sought her advice. Not a good sign in Enola's book.

"What happened at Baskerville?" She asked eyeing him carefully. His tensing at the question gave some insight to his adventure at the military research center. "This is more than just doubting yourself isn't it? You felt fear."

"How did you handle your doubt?" He reworded his question hoping she would not pry any further and stay on task.

"Who ever said I got over my doubt?" She smirked sarcastically. "I still have moments of monumental doubt about myself, compliments of Mummy."

"What do you mean 'compliments of Mummy'?"

"'You will do very well alone'." Enola quoted, imitating her mother's voice and mannerisms. It was a good imitation of their mother, Sherlock had to admit. In that short moment Sherlock could see his mother in Enola confirming their blood relation. But Enola's version of their mother was slightly cold, and not how Sherlock viewed her. "That became the only thing that she would say to me towards the end of my stay at the family estate. Do you realize that my name is 'alone' spelled backwards?"

"What does your name have to do with your doubt?"

"Violet Holmes, in her own little way, told me that no matter what I accomplished I would always be alone." Enola stated, speaking matter-of-factly. She had long since accepted that her biological mother did not like her very much, but she had at least taken care of her in her youth despite that. "No matter what I achieved, no one would give a damn about me. It is ingrained in me to believe that nothing I do will ever be worth anything, that nothing I do is worthwhile. Despite that Wilhelm and Amelia have great faith in me; I don't understand why, but they do. So, I work through it."

Enola felt her throat tighten as she spoke of her guardians in comparing them to Violet Holmes. The Lehrers were more like the loving parents that any child would want to have in comparison to the Holmes.

"How?" Sherlock noticed the slight hitch in Enola's voice. He decided against commenting on it. As much as he could infer Wilhelm and Amelia were the ones that took care Enola in American and she felt a familiar connection with them. If Sherlock was normal he would have said that he was jealous of that connection, if he was normal.

"My method would not work for you Sherlock." Enola insisted. She had a calming, meditative method that Wilhelm had taught her which would not cohere to Sherlock's empirical and rational mind. Also, Enola remembered that Sherlock would lash out whenever something was not going his way and wondered if he still did.

"Your reasoning," Sherlock demanded; he did not like being viewed as lacking, especially by his younger sister who never showed any signs of being anything other than ordinary.

"Because you're too prideful to allow other people to help you." She explained, shifting in her seat to face him a bit more directly. "Humility was never your best trait."

"Then what do you suggest?" He asked. Enola, again, found herself gaping in shock at Sherlock. "What?"

"I don't know if I should be flattered or very scared that you're asking me for help." Enola said with concern written all over her face. "Why come to me Sherlock? Why not go to your friend, John?"

"Why are you avoiding my question?" Sherlock was getting exasperated. He did not know which annoyed him more Enola talking or not talking.

"I'm not avoiding your question," Enola remarked, equally exasperated. "I'm trying to understand your reasoning for asking me and not our brother or John. With that in mind I can better assist you."

"This was a mistake." Sherlock stood abruptly and started walking away towards the park exit. He tried to remember why he even bother texting Enola. Cruse that drug and cruse the doubt it caused in him.

"You are incorrigible!" Enola cried as she jumped up and followed behind him. "The only mistake here is you not telling everything to me. If I don't know what happen I can't give you the help you apparently want from me."

Sherlock stopped walking just at the exit almost causing Enola to run into him. He weighted his options before turning to his sister.

"Fine." He barked.

He wasted no time in telling her everything from Bluebell the rabbit to the row he had with John after his first visit to the cove. It surprised Sherlock how easy it was to talk with Enola; there was no need to explain anything as with John and he was not trying to outdo her as with Mycroft, he just talked. For Enola, it brought on memories of even she was very young, before the fighting when her brothers would just talk and she would happily listen to them. This time she was part of the conversation. It was odd for Sherlock; he was not use to Enola vocally speaking in their conversations. In the course of this conversation his opinion of sister was changing; she was showing promise, not so ordinary. When he had finished Enola was giving him a thoughtful look.

"You did not tell me everything." She announced. Just like her brothers could tell what she was saying when she did not speak, she could also tell the same of her brothers.

"Yes, I did," Sherlock snapped back.

"No, you did not." Enola returned, keeping her voice calm. She would have laughed at any other time and if they were talking about something else, because here they were in the park arguing like normal siblings.

Sherlock snorted in frustration at Enola's accusation.

"Then tell me what you really saw in the cove the second time you went!" Enola demanded. Sherlock caught himself before he gaped at her. "What? Did you think you were the only person who could use abductive reason as effectively as your website suggests?" Enola could not help the little smirk that escaped.

"Its called the 'Science of Deduction'." Sherlock replied scathingly. "Do try to keep up."

"Deductions are the product, not the actual process," Enola replied. "Look it up, you're incorrect." she said with a little more satisfaction than she cared to mention.

Now, Sherlock just glared at her, but Enola just crossed her arms and waited for Sherlock to speak.

"Under the influence of the drug," Sherlock finally conceded. "I mistook Dr. Franklin for Moriarty."

"So you're afraid of Moriarty."

"I wouldn't say – "

"Yes, you are." Enola cut him off, with a flourish of her wrist, not dissimilar from the one Sherlock himself used to fob people off. "You have every reason to be."

At that moment the weather decided to be unreasonable and it began to rain. Without really reasoning through the action Sherlock grabbed Enola's hand and lead her to cover out of the park and the other side of the street. Surprisingly, Enola willingly allowed him to lead her. Finding shelter under a store awning they waited for the rain to stop.

"My friends help me through my doubt." Enola explained without any prompting. Sherlock observed her as she fiddle with her necklace. He had seen her wear it before and could tell that it had a high sentimental value to Enola. The necklace served as a connection to the people who had great significance in her life. "They push me past my doubt, my fear. They are always there to help me. But despite this I've never stopped having that nagging feeling that being alone is what protects me.

"I have done very well on my own because I have been alone for most of my life." Enola finally looked at Sherlock and her hand dropped away from her necklace. "The question you must ask yourself is when you doubt yourself, who do you trust to get you through it?"

"That's surprisingly helpful." Sherlock murmured, mostly to himself. He thought back to when John was talking with him after he was first under the influence of the drug. They were both so willing to help him and he could not understand the reason why.

Enola's phone suddenly rang breaking the philosophical mindset the Holmes siblings found themselves in. They shared a look before she answered.

"Yes," Enola answered taking up her American accent. She listened to the person on the other end for a few moments. "I'm actually in town, it shouldn't be a problem. Three days is all I need . . . yes, I understand. Don't worry about it."

Enola looked at her phone as she hung up before looking pointedly at Sherlock.

"What?" He asked more out of frustration than curiosity. "Is it something I should be concern about?"

"Are you a drug trafficker or illegal arms dealer?" She countered, putting away her phone. She, to Sherlock's annoyance, kept the American accent. After his dealings with the American agents and how they treated Mrs. Hudson, he felt less than generous towards anything American.

"No," He deadpanned; that answer should have been obvious to Enola. Sherlock was beginning to get annoyed again; just when he thought she was beginning to show some promise, she showed herself to be irrevocably dull and ordinary

"Than I shouldn't see you snooping around my business over the next few days." Enola turned her gaze to the rain again. Her answer surprised Sherlock. "I promise that this little job of mine won't interfere with you directly, or even indirectly for that matter."

"Pity," Sherlock remarked also looking out to the rain.

"Why?" Enola cautiously ventured. She did not want an onslaught of criticisms from Sherlock; she and enough to deal with at the moment.

"I need the challenge." The honesty in Sherlock's voice surprised Enola.

The rain lighted up enough for Enola to slip away unnoticed, but unlike before she bid Sherlock goodbye.

"Try not to have people shoot at you this time." Sherlock requested. There was light bantering tone in his request and a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

"That is like me asking you to resist the urge to show off." Enola smirked, pulling her coat closer to her. It was nice to have a conversation with Sherlock that ended on a high note. "But, I'll see what I can do."

She ran off into the rain feeling rather lighthearted; Sherlock did not view her as ordinary, she was worthy of being a challenge. It was probably the closest thing to a compliment she had every gotten from him.


	14. Guardians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two intelligent men met who share a common factor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set after Sherlock jumps off St. Bart's roof. First off, I'm not even going to try to speculate how Sherlock survived the fall. Moffat and Gatiss have already come up with something very brilliant and my attempts would just be pathetic. Second, I'm sure some of you will not like my interpretation of a character here. Please read the second author's note for my reason, than you can jump down my throat.

The burial was an odd affair for Mycroft. He knew that Sherlock was not dead but it did not lessen the fact that his brother was willing to die for the people he considered his friends. Sherlock had changed since gaining John as a flatmate. It also did not lessen the guilt and pain that he felt for having to reveal to Moriarty Sherlock's past under the orders of his supervisors.

Mycroft was thankful that neither of his siblings knew the extent of his actions. He doubted if John told Sherlock and if Enola found out through her own connections. If they did know, their already brittle relationship would break into a thousand pieces and would never be able to be put back together in any extent.

Lying to his mother, Violet, was difficult. As soon as she arrived she demanded answers from Mycroft that he could not give her. He had to admit that his mother's silent accusations of not taking better care of his brother gave him uneasiness.

They went to the burial and said nothing through the entirety of the event much like they did when they buried Siger Holmes. Mycroft observed the few people in attendance. Mrs. Hudson and John Watson were there, of course, along with a few of Sherlock's past clients who still believed. Members of Sherlock's Homeless Network were scattered along the edge not daring to come too close to 'respectful' people. Mycroft saw Sherlock hidden in the distance watching; with him was a man that Mycroft did not recognize. But they disappeared as soon as the man noticed Mycroft watching them and Mycroft did not find them again.

The Holmes were the next to last to leave; Mrs. Hudson and John had the honor of being the last to linger. They looked utterly broken, John more so than Mrs. Hudson. It look like John had stopped taking care of himself and was so focused on the death of his friend that the rest of the world became a blur. Mycroft did not allow the pang of guilt he felt show through his features as he left with his mother. He doubted if John would ever forgive his actions regarding Moriarty.

"People will talk." Violet remarked to her son as they entered the car.

"People do little else." Mycroft replied.

"The second child I've lost to misfortune." Violet said contemplatively. "Oddly enough it was the two who caused the most problems."

Mycroft did not reply to his mother's last remark. It was a conversation that he really did not wish to have at the moment.

The following day Mycroft took his mother to the train station and bid her good bye. He was secretly relived when she was gone. There was no longer a need to keep up pretenses continuously. He returned home and began to ponder his next course of action.

"I must say your mother is a very elegant woman." Mycroft stopped walking when he heard the unfamiliar voice coming from his study. Turning on the light he saw a man, an American, married, late forties to early fifties, professor, sitting at his desk looking over the multitude of newspapers all with similar titles declaring Sherlock a fraud. "I can see quite a physical resemblance between her and her children. Her youngest children take after physically more so than you. You are more your father's son in appearance, but, I would say that you do have her eyes. The burial was quite nice, I must say. I would also give you my condolences for the loss of your brother, but . . . we both know better."

"Do we?" Mycroft asked, cautiously going further into his study and thus closer to the man. He should have been more upset that a strange man had found his way into his home, but he was more annoyed than anything else. The man stood when Mycroft reached his desk.

"Elle doesn't tell me everything, but it wasn't hard to figure out for who she was creating an identity. I insisted that she allows us to help her, which was very fortunate." The man walked out from behind the desk. The man was impeccably dressed showing both conservative taste and substantial wealth. "You're a first for us – we've never worked of a government before."

The connections clicked in Mycroft's mind as he calmly walked to his desk, it was the man who was with Sherlock in the cemetery. There was a handgun locked in the top drawer of his desk, just in case he needed to be in reach of it. As he walked he wondered why the American would be doing in his office. "What are you doing here, Dr. Lehrer?"

Wilhelm smirked as Mycroft lingered on his name. It was a simple ploy to show one's opponent that little was unknown about them and that research had been done. Now the men stood on either side of the desk.

"Elle did say you do like to get to the point." He smiled and offered his hand. "Dr. Wilhelm Lehrer, professor of philosopher at New York University, private businessman, and professional thief. The last one is, of course, not listed on my tax returns."

Mycroft looked at his hand and briefly shook it – it was only polite to do so. He did not share in the man's humor. "The man responsible for taking care of Enola in America and turning her into a criminal."

There was a great amount of disappointment in Mycroft towards himself. If he had better guided his brother and sister, than maybe the current situation would not exist.

"She's one of my best students, in more areas than just thievery." Wilhelm smiled. He then took something from his jacket pocket and put it in Mycroft's hand. "I really do hate unnecessary violence."

When Mycroft looked at the object he discovered, much to his surprise, that it was the magnum, emptied, of his handgun. He quickly checked the drawer and it was still locked with no sign of a forced entry.

"Impressive." Mycroft remarked and sat down, placing the magnum on the desk. "You still haven't answered my question."

"I want Richard Brook," Wilhelm said grabbing a chair and turning it so that was backwards in front of the desk. "Or as he's really christened – James Moriarty."

Something twisted inside of Mycroft at the sound of that name. "What about him?"

"Give me everything you have on the identity of Richard Brook and I will be able to tell you who forged it." Wilhelm said unbuttoning his jacket before sitting in the chair, leaning forward on the back support.

"Wouldn't that be betraying your own kind?" Mycroft leaned back in his chair. This conversation was certainly not what he expected from the criminal. "I believe the term Americans use is 'snitch'."

"Not really," Wilhelm shrugged. "You will find that I am not your normal run of the mill thief." He put the unfired bullets on the desk, one by one, into a neat little row. By such an act Wilhelm was showing that he could have done great harm to Mycroft without breaking a sweat. But now Wilhelm was freely putting in Mycroft's reach a means of protection. "I have associates and connections on either side of the law. Moriarty and people like him I usually stay clear from."

"So even criminals have their standards." Mycroft said unconvinced. The old adage, 'No honor amongst thieves' was clique, but in Mycroft's experience very true.

"After a fashion." Wilhelm said contemplating how to relay what was on his mind. "When I first met James Moriarty he was an arrogant young man with a lot of talk. The last time I saw him he offered me a chance to work with him and he was still an arrogant man, but with a hell of a lot power to back up his ego. I declined his offer. A man like Moriarty and a man such as myself do not work well together. He breaks the law for the thrill of it and the challenge it presents. I break the law because sometimes the law is the problem."

"You fancy yourself, your wife and my sister as Robin Hood thieves of the modern age." Mycroft said feeling a sense of annoyance towards the man. He had done his research after Enola had first approached him with her information on Moriarty. After a few dead ends he learned about Wilhelm and Amelia Lehrer and their connection to Enola. They were very good at hiding their criminal activities and on paper were the perfect law-abiding citizens. It was actually very difficult, even for Mycroft, to connect any crime to them.

"If you like."

"I do not."

"Then, sir, we are at an impasse." He stood and walked to a bookcase collecting his thoughts. Wilhelm turned back and considered Mycroft before continuing. "For someone who disapproves of my actions in regards to Elle, you found them to be most useful. You could have gotten any government to give you papers for your brother to go into hiding, yet you use valuable, hard to acquire favors to locate and bring in your sister."

"I worry, constantly." Mycroft said evenly.

"As do I," Wilhelm said. "So you will understand when I demand to know if you are simply using her? Elle is not one to say no to you or Sherlock. Why go to Elle?"

"For it to work no government agency could be involved." Mycroft said evenly.

"Alright," Wilhelm shook his head. "Stick with the official story if that's what you want. Just realize that it put Elle in a lot of danger."

Mcroft said nothing; he honestly had nothing to say.

"I know you are mad at me," Wilhelm smirked. Mycroft thought it odd that Wilhelm Lehrer was even in his office talking with him and difficult to decipher the motivations. The criminal before him was surprisingly hard to read. "Well, let's us say disappointed, that I taught Elle how to break the law and not get caught. But you must understand that it was either that, let her starve in the streets or even have end up in the system. My wife and I would have never forgiven myself if I had chosen one of the latter two."

"You should have called your authorities and she would have been returned to her family." Mycroft even manner of speaking was still there, but the anger was there and Wilhelm could see it. "Than she wouldn't have become a criminal and hence be unknown to Moriarty."

"From what I learned about your family Elle would have just ran away again and Heaven only knows what would have happen to her after that." Wilhelm said politely, allowing his own anger to show through the cracks. He still remembered all those talk he and Amelia had with Enola once she had become comfortable talking about her family, the night when Enola told him of the night she left, and there was no way, in good conscious, that Wilhelm could send her back to her family. "I did not just teach her how to steal. Amelia and I homeschooled her through high school, helped her pass the GED, found people amongst our friends willing to tutor her giving Elle strong Liberal Arts background at the college level. She is accomplish in art, music, rhetoric, dance, writing – name it and she will learn about it and do it. Despite all her accomplishments and capabilities she is humble and she enjoys helping people. She may not understand them but she will help them.

"Through this education I have given Elle opportunities to let her do anything she wishes." Wilhelm continued. "I am encouraging her to look beyond the thieving life. I know from personal experience that it's very hard to stay in the game and not be negatively affected by it."

"Are you trying to defend your actions to me?" Mycroft was a bit surprise by what Wilhelm was telling him and, again, wondered at the motivation behind it.

"No," Wilhelm returned to his seat and turned it so it was now facing the desk properly before sitting down. "I thought I should tell the legal guardian how his charge is doing. It must have been difficult for you to learn that your mother hated her daughter, your sister. Rather silly, since Enola could not help to be born around the time it was discovered your father was cheating on her. In that very act of signing over guardianship to you, Violet Holmes abandon her daughter. I'm a bit surprised that she doesn't have the same resentment to Sherlock since he's the one that revealed it for all to see. Ah, the things children will say when they don't know any better."

If one was to count how many times Mycroft Holmes was struck speechless only one hand would be needed, and this was one of those moments. Though, he did not show his surprise on his face.

"I won't bother asking the the benign 'how do you know that' question." Mycroft said when he found his voice. "You seem to be very well informed."

Mycroft never told anyone that at the death of Siger, his father that Violet, his mother, wanted nothing to do with the daughter that reminded her of her failed marriage. Mycroft was able to quickly draw up the paperwork naming himself the legal guardian of Sherlock and Enola until they each turned thirty years of age.

Sherlock at his thirtieth birthday would become a co-guardian with Mycroft over Enola. Violet agreed readily and signed the documents without so much as a second thought. Mycroft said nothing of this to his brother and neither Sherlock or Enola found out about it.

"More so than even you," Wilhelm took out a card from his wallet and placed it on the desk within Mycroft's reach. "And very connected, which could be very useful to you."

Mycroft took the card and saw that it was Wilhelm's contact information listing several international numbers.

"Why?" Mycroft asked putting the card back on the desk.

Wilhelm smiled. It was the kind of smile that said that the person knew a lot more than he was going to say. Mycroft had used such a ploy often in his career and he hated that he was now on the receiving end of such a smile. Wilhelm stood and buttoned his jacket.

"It was a pleasure meeting you Mycroft Holmes." He said making his way to the door. "I expect a call from you as soon as you have all the Richard Brook information ready."

"You expect me to work willingly with a criminal." Mycroft also stood just as Wilhelm reached to door.

Wilhelm turned around, he was not surprised by Mycroft's remark. He also did not regret what he was to say next.

"You did once for the sake of national security." Wilhelm's statement made Mycroft tense up. "To clear your brother's name and to bring down the man who tricked you into helping him do that, I expect you to be willing to walk through the nine levels of Dante's Hell then the nine levels of Purgatory, twice.

"I always found it odd that Enola could face off with the most dangerous people in the world, like Moriarty, without batting an eyelash." Wilhelm walked back to the desk. He spoke with authority, almost down to Mycroft. There was an edge in his voice that made Mycroft realize why they man before him was so successful in the criminal world. If you crossed him or acted against him in any capacity – run. "But when it came to her own flesh and blood she became terrified. What does that say about the relationships in your family?"

Wilhelm considered Mycroft a moment before offering his hand to the man not allowing him to answer the question. The two men shook, but instead of simply letting go, Wilhelm shifted his grip so he had a better hold on the wrist and proceeded to ram Mycroft's hand onto the flat surface of the desk.

The pain shot threw Mycroft's hand and through his arm, but he kept his reaction to a simple grimace. The thief had him pinned in an uncomfortable position, but it allowed Wilhelm to easily lean in to talk into Mycroft's ear.

"I know I said I hate unnecessary violence, but this is to prove a point, so it is necessary." Wilhelm spoke in a stage whisper and tighten his grip causing more pain. "If you ever do what you did to your brother to my daughter, nothing short of Divine intervention will stop me from getting to you. Do I make myself clear?"

He released Mycroft's hand who discovered that he could barely move it.

"Perfectly." Mycroft spoke giving little acknowledgment to the violent handshake as though it had not happened. "My office will be in contact with you concerning Richard Brook."

Wilhelm cocked his head slightly noting that he approved of the course of action.

"I'm sure they will. I haven't told Elle what you did, if you're worried about that, and I doubt if Sherlock knows just yet." Wilhelm straightened his jacket before heading out. "You might want to put some ice on that." He called out as he closed the study door behind him.

Mycroft was not really surprise when he had his hand examined later to find that he sustained a sprained wrist and several hairline fractures in three of the metacarpals.

Wilhelm quickly left Mycroft's home and headed to Trafalgar Square where he prearranged to meet Enola. She was off collection favors on behalf of Wilhelm since he did not want her anywhere near by when he spoke to her brother. It was one thing that Wilhelm could agree with Mycroft; neither of them wanted Enola to know of Mycroft's involvement with Moriarty's plot to bring down Sherlock.

As soon as Wilhelm arrived he spotted her by a fountain walking about, well, her steps was more akin to dancing. She had her earphones in listening to music and judging from the rhythm of her steps Enola was either listening to Glenn Miller of George Gershwin, it was a toss up with her.

"Glenn or George?" He asked when he reached her.

"'Slap that Bass'," Enola smiled taking out her earphones and turning off her music player.

"Dudley Dickerson?"

"With Fred Astaire, of course." She looked over him carefully. "Did your meeting not go well? You look a bit agitated."

Wilhelm shrugged offering his arm to Enola. She took it without a second thought. It was an old-fashion gesture, but it suited them best.

"It went as well as I could hope." He explained as they walked. "I know I at least got my point across."

"That's good." Enola then proceeded to give him a run down on the errands she accomplished for him. Wilhelm only half listen to what she was saying and was more focused on Enola. He had been a bit worried for her since they had arrived in London.

"What are your plans?" Wilhelm asked when they were about halfway home. They could have taken a cab or the tube, but they had wanted to talk and avoid bystanders listening in fully to what they were saying.

"Concerning what?" She looked at him thoughtfully.

"Your brother, Sherlock"

"I don't know." She confessed, looking momentarily lost. "It's just so odd. I've spent years trying to keep both my brothers out of my life, especially my work, and now … to so willingly allow one into my, well, our work so openly. It's a cornucopia of confusion."

"No doubt," Wilhelm agreed.

"Why?"

"I want you to go with him. He'll probably want to work alone at first, but he'll need a lot of help with the sort of operation he's planning." He said. He kept walking forward even after he felt Enola let go of his arm in surprise. He did eventually stop to allow her to catch up after she got over her shock.

"I'm sure you have a good reason."

"I do." Wilhelm nodded and started walking again.

"You're not going to tell me." Enola said after reading his body language.

"Not at the moment."

"I hate it when you get vague and omnipotent sounding." She remarked trailing behind him a bit annoyed. "I will admit it's cool when you do it to the mark, but when you do it to me, it gets kinda annoying."

Wilhelm laughed. "I must ask though," Wilhelm turned to look at Enola. "I've seen the way your brothers are able to glen information from people with the slightest of details. You've done it on occasion when we're in a tight spot on a con. My question – why have you never done it with me or Amelia when we don't tell you something? I imagine that you could find out quite easily."

Enola smiled and gave a small chuckled. "Because you would tell if you thought I needed to know."

"You trust me that much?" Wilhelm asked offering his arm, again, to Enola, who took it again.

"You've never given me reason not to." Enola said. They smiled at each other and continued their way home in contended silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus begins the very unusual relationship between Enola's guardians. Let's hope they don't kill each other.
> 
> OK, my reason for casting Violet Holmes in such a negative light is that in the Enola Holmes Mysteries, she just ups and leaves Enola without any word on the fourteenth birthday, so essentially abandoning her. The reason Violet Holmes want to live freely amongst the Gypsies without the constraints of Victorian society. That's all well and good, but she had a daughter who barely a teenager! Throughout the entire book series Enola just wants to find her mother and have a family (which I try to portray in this story) which really struck a cord with me.
> 
> So in conclusion the character of Lady Holmes in the book series irked me to no end and this is my small revenge against her.
> 
> Please review and tell me what you think!


	15. We Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock adjusts to his new predicament after the Fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set around the same time as the last chapter.
> 
> I am so glad so many of you like Wilhelm in the last chapter and I will admit he is my favorite OC in this story.
> 
> Thanks to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for looking over this chapter and having that great ability to know what I want to convey without me saying anything!

Enola had gotten Sherlock out of the hospital and to one of the many safe-houses that the Lehrers had set up in London over the years. As soon as they got there Enola left again with Wilhelm with claims of errands leaving Sherlock in the hands of Amelia. During the days leading up to the burial Sherlock saw little of his sister and that of Wilhelm. Sherlock watched them and they would come in and out of the front door, grabbing this or that as they talked out some drug company bribes or a family who lost everything from a scam – nothing that really interested Sherlock.

Wilhelm was actually the one to take Sherlock to his own burial. During the drive to and at the event Sherlock said next to nothing. He had nothing really to say. Wilhelm was also quiet, he was formulating his own plans.

"German or Austrian?" Sherlock asked when they were driving back from the burial. Wilhelm glanced at him quickly before turning back to the road and considered his answer.

"Firstly, never ask that question of any German or any Austrian," Wilhelm said. "Secondly, Naturalized American citizen."

Well that answer was frustrating. Sherlock was tempted to launch into the explanation of how he came to that conclusion. Wilhelm had that annoying authoritative manner that reminded Sherlock too much of Mycroft; for that reason alone Sherlock wanted to say something, anything, to show his intelligence. Much like he had done when he first met John.

"I'm really not interested in the 'how'." Wilhelm said just as Sherlock opened his mouth. For the rest of the ride Sherlock said and asked nothing else.

Amelia was very welcoming but seemed to understand Sherlock's need for some time alone to collect himself from the chaos from which he just recently escaped. He ate and slept little and Amelia made no comment. She actually spoke very little to him until a few days after the burial when she declared that he must change appearance. She had everything ready for the haircut and dyeing; it was obvious that she would not take no as an answer and Sherlock did see the benefit of looking different.

When she was done, Sherlock looked at himself in the mirror. Amelia had skillfully cut and dyed his hair so now he had shorter reddish blonde hair. It was very different; he doubted if anyone would have recognized him easily, which was the point.

"Here we are," Amelia came up from behind him with a thin black box contain different spectacle frames. "This rectangular frame will work best I believe." She pulled out a pair that fit her description and handed them to Sherlock. With them on he looked even more different..

"Hm." It would take Sherlock a while for him to adjust to the new look. Probably a day or so.

"Your new identity has to be Elle's best work yet." Amelia practically beamed as she spoke. "I don't think she worked as hard on any other identity."

Sherlock looked at the various papers in front of him. This was really the first time he had a chance to look over her work since she had given him them. Everything was there that was needed to prove that this fake person existed. Passport, birth certificate, medical records, to name a few. Enola even gave the identity a credit card statement. A very through job.

The makeup of the false identity was an interesting choice on Enola's part. Vilhelm Sigerson, a Norwegian photographer who spent an extensive amount of time traveling for his art. The name was creative, Sherlock had to give that to his sister, it was actually the first thing he noticed; Vilhelm, the Norwegian version of William, his barely used first name of William Sherlock Scott Holmes; Sigerson, their father was named Siger. The choice of occupation would allow Sherlock the ease of travel without much suspicion to take down Moriarty's web of crime.

Enola's work on this was … impressive. She accomplished what few had ever done, impress Sherlock Holmes. Within days of running away Enola essentially disappeared; neither Mycroft or Sherlock, with all their connections that grew as the years past, could find her. At the time Sherlock was too annoyed with the disappearance to be impressed by it. But now he could fully appreciate the skill it took for her to do that. Now those skills were refined and given ease so she could disappear right from Sherlock's side without him realizing it as she had done when they first talked in Regency Park. Mycroft had even mentioned in passing that it was difficult to locate Enola despite knowing she was in London.

"You taught her." It was a statement bordering on accusation. Despite what Enola had provided for him, Sherlock felt . . . disappointed that she had chosen to become a criminal. He did not know why he felt that way, he just did. He was confused by the feeling.

"Yes." Amelia said, obviously proud. Sherlock could not decide if she had not heard his threatening tone or if she was choosing to ignore it. "She's even better than me. Her attention to detail is amazing to say the least. Wilhelm and I are very proud of her."

Sherlock said nothing – just observed her as she spoke. Amelia acted very parental towards Enola, he could see it in the small gestures she did towards Enola. Things like gently brushing strands of hair from Enola's face, placing hands on Enola's shoulders in comfort, even telling Enola she was proud of her. Sherlock noticed the protective nature in which Wilhelm had towards his sister in the short time he saw the man.

All the actions of loving parents towards their beloved child. But Enola was not their child. Sherlock did not understand why they treated her as such. He almost felt robbed by the Lehrers for, in a sense, taking his sister away. If he had the chance, Sherlock was certain that he could have molded Enola into something great, not just some petty thief. But that was what was done to her by Wilhelm and Amelia; both who seemed to care too much about a girl who was not their own.

Caring is not an advantage. As seen with his fall from 'grace' – Moriarty won. He used Sherlock's caring against him. He should have not gotten emotional. It was much simpler when he could think calmly, logically, and rationally. At least that was what he was trying to convince himself. Sherlock was doing his best not to let his mind wander over memories of Mrs. Hudson popping in with a 'how do you do', John scolding him for being rude to a client or the times he laughed with John.

All of that was gone.

He lost everything.

But, before him was a blatant example of caring, from which Enola had apparently benefited. As Amelia had told him earlier, Enola was a force to contend with.

"Dinner's in twenty." Amelia said leaving Sherlock to muse in his thoughts. "And I will book no argument with you about eating. I expect you to clean your plate. Oh, and I'm not above force feeding you."

Sherlock quickly looked in her direction to glare at her for her last comment, but by the time he turned she disappeared around the corner. He had not formed an opinion of the woman, yet. She was intelligent in her field, that being art. As she cut and dyed his hair she talked of art and anything relating to art, from how painting styles have changed through out the centuries to how to mix pigments. None of it was interesting to Sherlock nor did it seem important for him, but he listened. Amelia also knew her ways around weapons. Not only did she restore paintings but she worked extensively with historic weapons ranging from the early 1700s to the World War II era, restoring them for display or working order for reenactments.

Wilhelm and Enola, having finished what they were working on in the past few days, returned shortly before dinner, which was a quite affair. Everyone was too preoccupied with their own thoughts to be concerned with conversation. Sherlock and Enola ate little, much to Amelia chagrin; she did not put that much on their plates to begin with. Wilhelm was looking over some paperwork, also to Amelia chagrin. She was about to make good on her threat of force feeding when her husband caught her eye.

"Ringer," Wilhelm said thoughtfully.

"What about him?" Amelia asked.

"He did it." Wilhelm placed the papers back into the folder and pushed it aside.

"Did what?"

"Richard Brook." Wilhelm's last remarked caused Sherlock to snap out of his own thoughts and stare at him.

"Who is Ringer?" Sherlock made a grab for the folder but Wilhelm quickly took it from his reach as would a parent taking a object away from a child whose was too young to use it and handed it to his wife.

"A forger based out of Britain and a commonly good one." Wilhelm leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. "I've been looking at this Richard Brook identity and it has Ringer's fingerprints all over it."

"With that level of work this is an expensive job." Amelia remarked after looking over the file.

"I'm sure Ringer did it at a discount for Moriarty." Wilhelm's mind was racing wondering the next several possible steps he could take.

"This is more work than what we would even do for a forgery." Amelia shook her head in disbelief. "What about the Eraser?"

"Not someone who would work with Moriarty." Wilhelm said.

"Where can I find this 'Ringer'?" Sherlock demanded not use to being ignored.

"Not sure." Wilhelm said casually. "I've never worked with him personally and I honestly thought he retired years ago."

"Where can I find him?" Sherlock demanded again.

"Elle, why don't you show your brother what you've been working on." Wilhelm requested; he either did not hear Sherlock's question or chosen to ignore it. He did not look at her, his eyes were staring off in the distance lost in thought.

Enola briefly glanced at Wilhelm before motioning to Sherlock to follow her. Her brother lingered a bit as if weighing the options before him. Whatever the choices, he finally stood and followed Enola.

"Why not show him the file?" Amelia asked as she began clearing the table.

"He's not thinking clearly." Wilhelm leaned back in his chair. "He is upset and will only see what he wants to see."

"You're trying to keep him from doing something stupid." Amelia stated. "We might be too late on that one. And?"

"I don't want him to know about Mycroft's role until he is more at ease." Wilhelm stood and began to help with wife with the dishes. "Not like Mycroft had much of a choice in the matter."

"I see what you're doing." Amelia smirked as she made her way to the kitchen.

"I'm sure you do, my dear." He called as he followed her.

Enola led Sherlock to her room which also doubled as her art studio. The windows, which probably allowed an ample amount of light to come in when sunny, were covered by thick curtains. To one side, opposite her neatly made bed, there was an easel and a desk and scattered about and on the desk were sketches of places all over London, there were even a few of Baker Street, on the easel was the beginning of a painting of a country landscape. He was surprised by the tightness in his chest as he saw the Baker Street sketches; he quickly covered them under the other piles of sketches.

Amongst the sketches there were notes on criminal activity in London and other major cities, some Sherlock knew about, others he did not particularly care about or had any knowledge of. As Sherlock examined her room, Enola went to her armoire and pulled out a banker's box stuff full of papers and computer disks.

"When Moriarty expressed his displeasure towards me I took several precautions just in case he decided to take me out of the game. Of course that decision was made before half of the criminal world thought it would be a way in on Moriarty's good side to take me out." Enola placed the box on her bed and began to pull out the files and disks. It was notes on Moriarty's criminal organization. Seeing the contents of the box, Sherlock greedily delved into the notes only half listening to his sister, which is what Enola expected. "I collected all the data I could from different sources and used it against him. I took down a drug trafficking route of his last week. I could continue on my own, but I think that this is more for you. It's more personal to you."

"Why isn't personal for you?" Sherlock asked not looking up from reconnaissance pictures. "Having your life threatened would make it personal for most people."

"We're not like most people, Sherlock," Enola pointed out as she pulled out her laptop from under her bed. As she sat on her bed, she began to feel drowsy; it must have been for not getting enough sleep over the past few weeks. "For me it's just business. One can't take too many things personal in this line of work, or else you would get nothing done."

They fell silent. It was not uncomfortable or awkward it was just simply there. Enola watched Sherlock pour over her notes, he seemed quite captivated by them. She even allowed him the use of her laptop so he could access the disks. After a while, she saw that Sherlock was also showing signs of being tired, which was odd. Enola remembered how he would not sleep when he had something to entertain his mind and her notes should be doing that, judging on how intensely he was studying them.

Sherlock felt a bit dizzy and sat next to Enola before he lost his balance. He suddenly became a little concerned, he was not one to become dizzy.

"You alright?" She asked gently.

"I feel tired." Sherlock stated standing up in a feeble attempt to awaken himself.

"Not surprisingly considering the week you've had." Enola remarked. "When was the last time you slept?"

"That's not the point." Sherlock protested, plopping himself on the floor at the foot of the bed. "I don't sleep; not when I have a case!"

"Sherlock!" Enola joined her brother on the floor, kneeling next to him. "You lost everything in the course of less than two days. That would be trying on anyone, even you. Have you even allowed yourself to feel the magnitude of your loss?"

"I can't afford to feel anything! Look what happen when I allowed myself to feel!" Sherlock snapped furiously and glared at Enola. She seemed to shrink away quickly like a frightened child and fear flashed in her eyes. Enola's reaction gave Sherlock pause, she was on the verge of shaking but she regained her composer and very cautiously placed a hand on his arm.

"I know," She spoke softly as if afraid that he would snap at her again and kept her eyes downcast. She could not bare to look at his face, it brought too many painful memories to surface. "You gained a wonderful friend, a woman who looks at you like her son, I might even add a man who you have respect towards. You became a better person, people became more willing to seek your help despite your abrupt manner, and – "

She stopped and closed her mouth not wanting to continue. Removing her hand she sat next to Sherlock gathering her knees to her chest showing her own tiredness. She focused on her breathing, taking deep breathes. Enola worked on returning the memories deep into her mind and Sherlock watched. Her face was still, but Sherlock could easily the fear and sadness in her expression and that she lost the little color that was in her face.

"You're no longer afraid of me." Sherlock finished for her after he deduced her actions. "You were afraid of me?"

Enola nodded. Few things could surprise Sherlock but that was one of them. He could not think of a reason for Enola to fear him; angry, yes, but fear? He could not answer that.

"Why?" He asked, his attention completely on Enola. She looked at him and shook her head.

"No dear brother mine." She wore a sad smile on her face. "Today, we do not worry about me. Today we concern ourselves about you and help you get started on your crusade." She reached behind her to grab a file.

"Enola – "

"You do know how to use a camera, right?" Enola asked cutting off Sherlock. She looked intently at the file. "If not, Wilhelm can teach you; he taught me photography."

Sherlock decided to withhold his question for now. The Holmes family was nothing if not stubborn and Enola had that trait in abundance; though not as much as Sherlock.

They proceeded to plot and plan for Sherlock's first steps in taking down the web; the tension that had suddenly erupted between them slowly dissipated and they worked until they could no longer ignore how tired they had become and fell asleep sitting on the floor next to each other with Enola resting her head on Sherlock's shoulder. They were not disturbed when Amelia opened the door to check on them. She smiled at the sight of them sleeping with the papers askew around them with the light of Enola's computer shining on them.

"You put a sedative in their food." Wilhelm stated as his wife closed the door softly.

"They were running themselves ragged." Amelia defended herself. "You know how Elle won't sleep or eat well during a con and we came straight from a con to here, that's almost three weeks. I'm sure her brother has similar habits."

"I understand, believe me." Wilhelm gently pulled his wife into a hug and just held her. "Sherlock looked drained when we brought him back from the graveyard. Elle is always on edge whenever Moriarty is involved or being in England."

"I won't tell if you won't." Amelia said leaning her head on Wilhelm's shoulder. It had been a long and stressful time for them. Amelia could never understand women who have so little regard for children, especially their own. Early in their marriage Wilhelm and Amelia tried for children, having one son who was born too soon and died too young. It was several years before Amelia could listen to a baby crying without tears forming in her eyes. When Enola entered into their lives, Amelia took to being very mother-like towards her, which was what the girl desperately needed.

The family Amelia had growing up was large, loud, emotional and many times annoying but it was a guaranteed fact they had your back. Enola's family was nothing like that and Amelia wanted to make that up to the girl.

"Tell them what, my dear?" Wilhelm asked in all sincerity. "That they fell asleep on the floor? They'll find out when they wake up."

Amelia smirked and shook her head. "You are impossible."

"And yet, you willingly married me." Wilhelm kissed her forehead and they headed off to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let everyone know - I totally called it about Sherlock's full name before the third season premièred!!!


	16. A Left Hand into Coincidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With an unexpected run-in, a plan begins to form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set some time before 'Almost Unexpected'. I brought in a character from the Enola Holmes Mystery and lifted a scene from the book, 'The Case of the Left-Handed Lady', and combined it with a few suggestions given to me.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Again, many thanks to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for her help with this chapter and for the title suggestion!

The young Lady Cecily Alistair had been missing for the past three weeks when Mycroft Holmes arrived at the British Embassy in Madrid, Spain. That of course is not the reason why Mycroft was currently in Spain. He was dealing with a rather complex situation dealing with – best not get into that now.

The disappearance of the young aristocratic, who had been visiting the sights in the Spanish country side, was the current topic of hushed causal conversation when there was not a political crisis to be dealt with. Even his assistant, Anthea, got caught up in one such conversation when they were waiting for a meeting to begin. If there was anything of importance circulating in the gossip Anthea could tell him. Gossip could not be underrated as a source of information, especially when one wanted to gauge the general atmosphere of any situation.

Mycroft hated when his job required him to travel; granted it was not that many times that needed occurred but it still threw off his much preferred set schedule. He could not express how relieved he was when his assignment was finally over. He also could not express how surprise he was when he opened the door and was face to face with his sister, Enola. She had blood on her face and was supporting a very sickly looking Lady Cecily.

"She needs medical attention." Enola managed to get out after she got over the shook of unexpectedly seeing her brother. She was internally cursing herself for her stupidity; she got so caught up in finding Cecily that she became less cautious of her own person. It was as if the world decided to pull a cruel joke on her and set it up for her to run into her brother. Before Mycroft could say anything to her the people behind him shouted and rushed to aid the sick girl.

"How did you find her?"

"Where was she kept?"

"Is she still alive?"

Almost anyone and everyone was asking questions of Enola in regards to Lady Cecily. The only ones that Enola answered were ones that dealt directly with the health of the young aristocrat and the ones of the kidnappers. She explained that the kidnappers were hoping for an easy ransom but were not the sharpest minds in Europe. Also, she gave the address of where the kidnappers could be found bounded, gagged would still be unconscious if the authorities got there in the next thirty minutes.

Mycroft was only half listening to what she was saying. He was too focus on the fact that she had blood on her face and her hands had evidence of fighting. Between each question she would wipe away some blood from her face with a large white handkerchief. Facial wounds always bled worse than they actually were, but Enola still looked awful. She was beginning to show signs of lack of sleep as he had often seen on Sherlock and her skin had a sickly color. Mycroft had to resist the urge to have her seized and set back to England for her own good. But he knew that it was a fruitless effort. Enola could very easily escape and disappear which was the last thing he really wanted.

"Who are you?" Someone shouted over the chaos. The question caused Mycroft to tense. He was well aware of his sister's criminal activities despite the lack of physical proof. He wondered what would happen to his career if Enola's own career was revealed. It certainly would make the Prime Minsiter nervous and less trusting of Mycroft's advice. Mycorft's mind would have continued down that thought process if another thought got his attention. The fact that Enola was there at the Embassy with Lady Cecily recalled to his mind what she had said some years ago.

'I help people.' Such a simply phrase, but it got Mycroft thinking.

Enola, with regards to the question of her identity, allowed herself to be distracted by another question. Mycroft had to confess that he was impressed by how Enola handled herself and not once did she reveal anything about herself. He smirked thinking that many that worked under him could learn a lesson from his younger sister when dealing with the public. There would certainly be less messes for him to clean up and smooth over. It reminded him a little of their father, Siger, who had a great ability to control any conversation he was in to end favorable for him; not that he would ever tell Enola that little tidbit. Out of all the Holmes children, Mycroft got along the best with their father and even he did not like the man very much.

She was soon able to take the attention off herself completely and on to Lady Cecily who was now in the capable hands of the paramedics.

Mycroft was the only one to watch Enola leave and was a bit surprised when she paused to give him a small wave of 'hello' before disappearing into the streets. She wanted to do more, but thought better of it. Mycroft could be very controlling and Enola did not want to give him the opportunity to assert that control on her. When she was far enough from the Embassy Enola relaxed a little and laughed. She could almost hear Hatch quoting an old American movie saying 'Of all the gin joints in the world...'. Of all the British Embassies in the world Mycroft was in the one Enola went to. Well, that's life.

"Do you know her, sir?" Anthea asked back at the Embassy. Both she and Mycroft stepped aside to allow the paramedics to wheel Lady Cecily away to the waiting ambulance. Anthea had noticed that Mycroft was looking intently at the mysterious girl who had rescued Lady Cecily instead of on the young aristocrat like everyone else. She only caught a glimpse of the girl, but whoever she was it genuinely surprised her boss.

"Just another face in the crowd." He said nonchalantly as made his way to the door. He had a plane to catch and he did not want to miss it.

Mycroft relaxed a little after he got into the car. He wished he was completely happy at about returning to London, but the prospect of the continuing interrogation of James Moriarty dampened his spirits. Mycroft had a vague idea of what Moriarty might want from him. He was also fairly certain that his superiors would order him to give the consulting criminal exactly that without a second thought. This was one of those few moments in his life that he hated what he did, but when faced with saving his country and preserving one life – how was he to argue against that.

His phone vibrated announcing the arrival of a new text interrupting Mycroft's thoughts. It was from a number that Mycroft did not recognize. Curious as to how someone got one of the most secured phone number in the British government, he opened the message.

'Hope everything's alright. You look very tired. – EH'

Mycroft allowed himself to smirk and was about to put his phone away when another two texts arrived.

'Please do get some sleep. -EH'

'Don't bother tracing – burner phone. -EH'

The last text caused Mycroft to laugh. The fact that she knew that he would trace the number as soon as he could and her use of a burner phone impressed him. That was twice in one day. Since Enola reappeared Mycroft often wondered what Enola would have been like if she had remained at home. She certainly would not have been a criminal, but it was less certain if she would have been as confident as she was now. Maybe she would have been a bigger headache to him than Sherlock.

"Anything the matter, sir?" Anthea asked when she saw Mycroft's face deep in thought.

"When we get back to London I want you to call in a few favors of mine." Mycroft explained as he put his phone back in his jacket pocket.

"Business or personal sir?" She asked typing away on her own phone. She knew that look of Mycroft; it was the one that made Anthea almost feel sorry for those who went against Mycroft in anything – almost.

"Personal," Mycroft leaned back in his seat. "There's someone I need to find."

And a contingency plan he needed to form.


	17. Vermeer and Brithdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilhelm and Enola spend some quality time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set a year after 'New Name', and before 'Hello Again'.
> 
> I cannot give enough thanks to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for all her help. Thank you!

Enola Holmes was enjoying the night summer air as she looked over the side of the building and sighed. Despite the pleasant evening and the fantastic view of the Sleepless City at night, Enola felt very bored on top of the sixty floor building. But a job was a job.

Giving another sigh she tightened her harness and jumped over.

Breaking into office buildings was not hard and rather mind numbing for Enola, but she had Wilhelm over the small radio in her ear to keep her company; Wilhelm also had one in his ear. Whenever they were on a job they wore the radio devices so they could stay in touch and keep each other update on their statuses. Hatch made them un-hackable and smaller than a hearing aid so that it was practically invisible once in place. Her descent slowed as she reached the desired floor. She hung there for a moment looking critically at the window frame.

"Something wrong?" Wilhelm asked over the radio comm when he saw that she had not moved. He was watching through binoculars from the building across the street keeping an eye on the security feed that they tapped into. He was always proud of Enola with how efficiently she worked.

"There's sensors on the windows." Enola explained. "If I try to cut the glass the alarm will sound. A silent alarm by the looks of it."

Wilhelm resisted the urge to say something impolite; he did not wish Enola to hear him say anything ungentlemanly. It was always best to remain a gentleman no matter the circumstances. Also, they had come too far to be stopped by a simple alarm. He walked away from the window where he was watching and went to his computer and proceeded to hack into the security system.

"Give me a second Elle." Wilhelm said as he typed away.

"Don't worry, I'm just hanging around." She said nonchalantly before thinking back on her words. "I can't believe I just said that."

"I, nonetheless, appreciate the inadvertent humor." Wilhelm smiled. He found a backdoor in the security program to bypass the sensors. "Your birthday is coming up."

"I know," Enola brushed the strands of hair that had escaped the confines of her snug hat. During her two years with the Lehrers she had became very adept at scaling buildings and breaking into any establishment. She had been taught by many friends of the Lehrers, who were considered some of the best thieves in the world and by other more legitimate people. She worked very hard and trained whenever she was not studying for whatever degree she was working on. Currently she and Wilhelm were stealing back plans and patents that belonged to an old friend of his who was a small time inventor.

The inventor had come up with a device that was on its way of becoming a breakthrough and a big money maker. Unfortunately the backer of the project stole the plans and left the inventor high and dry. The inventor cared little for the money and just wanted his intellectual property back in his hands.

"Anything you would like to get or do for your birthday?" Wilhelm asked as he finished his hack. He had asked the same question for the past two birthdays Enola was with him and Amelia. But he got the same answer.

"Not really." Enola examined her glass cutter as she waited for Wilhelm to give her the all clear.

"You have a go." He said as he returned to the window and watched Enola. She cut into the glass a hole just large enough for her to slip in. Double checking the ground below her Enola dropped the piece of glass and jumped in.

The office was very luxurious in a modern flair with an annoying pompous manner; a good clue that the occupant of the office was very full of himself. The conclusion was further supported by the art that was in the office. There was no real theme to the collection, but Enola could tell that each sculpture and painting was worth quite a bit and probably the only reason they were there.

"You have ten minutes before security reaches you." Wilhelm said.

"Hm." Enola was already at the computer downloading the documents along with other suspicious files she found. It was always useful to have a little extra information on one's mark, it might be the key in bring him down. Wilhelm was slightly surprised when he saw the files already being uploaded to his computer from Enola's phone.

"Wasn't that computer password protected?" Wilhelm asked as he reviewed the files.

"Took me thirty seconds to guess his password." Enola sighed. "Not exactly Fort Knox here."

"Did that once." Wilhelm remarked.

"Really?" Enola checked her time. Six and half minutes.

"Amelia had a blast." Wilhelm smiled at the memory. "Almost finished there?"

"Done." She announced as she shut down the computer. She looked at the collection of art and pondered. "Can I take the Vermeer?"

"Sure," Wilhelm shrugged. As soon as the files finished their transfer he began to shut down his station and erase his presence from the room. "It will be a nice red herring for the official police force to follow."

Enola smiled as she took the picture out of the frame. The task was made easier by the fact that there was no alarm on it; the owner of the office did not think anyone could get past the outer defenses and did brother with individual alarms for the artwork. With the painting safely tucked away Enola got out through the window with thirty seconds to spare. She returned to the roof and dismantled her harness equipment packing it away. She had fifteen minutes before security hit the roof. Ten if they noticed the hole in the window.

With everything safely packed away, she secured the backpack before taking a deep breath. Enola smiled mischievously as she began to run across the roof to get a running start before jumping on the roof of the neighboring building. She giggled as she somersaulted on the new roof easing her landing. It was hard to describe the exhilarating feeling of jumping over rooftops or the thrill of a con going smoothly. Amelia had taught her to enjoy what she was doing, life was too short not to enjoy the time given you.

"Have fun at life!" Amelia told Enola when she was giving her her first painting lesson.

At the time the remarked confused Enola. The Holmes household was strict in the sense of one does things because one must. There was very little fun in anything. But Amelia's playful spirit would not allow Enola not to smile and have fun in life.

"I give you an eight out of ten." Wilhelm remarked dryly, but Enola could hear the playful tone in his voice and almost hear a wry smile come across his features.

"Always shoot for the gold." Enola responded as she took off her hat and fluffed her hair. She took out a hair pin and pulled back her dark curls into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. She then took off her vest and her black top to reveal a dressy dark purple top and stuffed the clothing into her backpack. After Enola changed into dressier shoes she made her way to the building via the roof door.

Enola was now a nameless secretary working late into the night on some project her boss assigned to her. No one gave her a second glance as she made her way through the building; she even waved good-night to the security guards as she walked out.

"Have a good night." One of them said.

"You too." She replied giving the guards a tired but sweet smile. She even added a polite wave and no one thought twice about her.

Wilhelm pulled up to the curb just as Enola reached the street.

"Excellent." Wilhelm said as she entered the car. "You still haven't said what you would like for your birthday."

"There's nothing that I really want." Enola insisted as she peeked at the Vermeer. "Besides, you and Amelia have already given me so much already; it would be a bit pointless for me to ask for more."

Birthdays were never of great importance growing up for Enola; it was just another day in the house. Mycroft always did make it a point to say 'Happy Birthday' to her in the morning but that was about it. Sherlock and Violet never did anything out of the ordinary. So when Amelia and Wilhelm surprised Enola with a simple cake her first birthday with them she was understandably confused.

"Allow us the simple courtesy of spoiling you on your birthday." Wilhelm laughed as he made a turn. He still remembered when Enola questioned the reason behind the cake he and Amelia had given her on her sixteenth birthday. Since then it had become his wife mission to make up for the fifteenth other birthdays of Enola's that were not celebrated. The challenge was the fact that Enola never really asked for anything. She was always happy with whatever was given her and seemed quite content.

"If you insist." Enola said with resignation putting away the Vermeer.

"Amelia insists." Wilhelm quickly clarified. "I'm just along for the ride." But his smile was one of a co-conspirator than one of an unwilling participant.

-MHSHEH-

"You found something?" Sherlock glared at his contact from the Home Office as he entered his flat. He was more annoyed at the man's tardiness than his actually presence.

The man nodded and handed Sherlock the file he had in hand. "These were taken a month ago in Rotterdam; it took us this long because it took the facial recognition program to accommodate the computer aging done on the photograph you provided of her."

Sherlock grabbed the file and opened it. There were several pictures, all of the same person, his lost sister. She was standing in front of a bronze statue of a man holding a rather large book. It appeared that she was taking pictures of the statue with the camera in her hands, before something behind her caught her attention. The following pictures were of her walking away from the statue. It had been three years since Enola ran away and she looked older, but there was no mistake, it was her.

"Consider your favor paid in full." Sherlock remarked not looking up from the pictures.

"Until the next time Sherlock." The man nodded to Sherlock before leaving.

Sherlock did not even hear the door click closed, he was too busy trying to figure out the reason for Enola to be in Rotterdam. He did not note the contented happiness on her face as she walked away from the statue or the date printed on the corner of the pictures of when they were taken.

The pictures were taken on July 20th; Enola's birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the series 'Leverage' and this chapter is my homage to them!


	18. John and Ivy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance encounter inspires John live again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After many, many requests ladies and gentlemen I give you John Watson.
> 
> I've this before and I'll say it again Thank you to 'a wolf is perfect paradox' for all the help she has given me. I am much indebted to you!

John's days had begun to blur together since Sherlock's death. Get up, dressed, coffee, go to work, sleep it cycled over and over. Work was dull but it paid the bills. Honestly he was not sure how much longer he could continue his dull thankless existence.

How sad it must appear if other people truly knew his state of mind. He could survive the cruelties of war where hundreds of men die on a regular basis, but the death of one man in London he. . .

He could not bare it.

Over the past two months John began collecting pills; ones that were dropped, lost or forgotten, nothing that would be truly missed. He now had quite a collection that would do the job when the monotony became too much.

Today was his day off and John decided to go out for coffee just to get out of the flat. Before he could sip his coffee he collided into another person.

"I'm so sorry sir!" The young woman said trying to soak up the remnants of coffee from John's shirt despite the fact that most of the coffee had landed on her. She seemed very nervous. "Are you alright?"

As the woman tried to clean up the mess John was able to observe her. She was youngish, looking fresh out of school with fair skin and natural blond hair that was kept in a messy side bun, much like how Molly often did her hair, from which John could see she stuck a pencil in it. Her features were slightly angular which were offset but the oval spectacles she had perched on her nose.

"Please, I'm fine." John insisted hoping she the woman would stop. "Really, I am."

"Not burned or anything?" She asked looking at him with uncertainty.

"Not burned or anything," John offered a feeble smile. He was not sure how successful it was in alleviating the woman's nervousness. He remembered how he could easily fall into some conversation with any woman; it would have been at this point that the woman would have given him her number after they laughed and joked at the situation. But John seemed to have lost that ability after his friend's death.

"Hi," She said suddenly holding out her hand snapping John out of his thoughts; she looked like she did not know what else to do. "I'm Ivy Meshle and this has to be the strangest way to meet a person."

John shook her hand to show her no harm was done and he could not help but smile. "John Watson."

"Could I get you another cup?" Ivy asked nervously.

"Would it put you at ease if I said 'yes'?" John asked.

"Absolutely." She blurted out. She was already searching out her purse for change.

Soon enough Ivy and John both had another cup of coffee and were walking down the street talking.

"Dr. Ragostin is a good employer. He basically gives me the run of the office when he's not there." Ivy said before taking another sip. "Which is a lot, come to think of it."

"You don't get overwhelmed?" John asked. "It sounds like you practically work alone."

"Sometimes I do." She confessed with a small smile. "But he taught me very well. Right now we have been hired to find a family heirloom of a war memento from the Crimean War."

"What's the memento?"

"A bullet-riddled leg-bone signed by the field doctor who had amputated it." Ivy said and John just gaped at her. She raised her hands in mock surrender."I've learned not to question people in regards to their sentimentality towards their things; especially the unusual objects."

"I won't argue with that." John chuckled then stopped. He had laughed and he had meant it; it felt a little odd since he had not done that in what seemed like an eternity. Suddenly all the times he laughed with Sherlock came flooding into his mind.

"You alright?" Ivy asked when she noticed John had become somber. "Something I said?"

"No, it's...it's been awhile since I've had a good time." John explained as best he could.

"I see," Ivy said nervously but her face showed that she did not. She looked at John thoughtfully biting her lower lip thinking about what to say next."Have you ever heard the phrase 'memento mori'?"

"No," John answered honestly.

"It's a Latin phrase roughly translated 'Remember that you must die'." She explained.

"That's a bit morbid." He remarked not knowing where Ivy was going with it.

"Dates back to the Medieval era and quite popular." Ivy smiled. "Dr. Ragostin explained to me that it's not as morbid as it sounds. It was a way to remind people that this life will end but we should not forget to live it. As Dr. Ragostin says 'Memento vivere', which roughly translates to 'Remember to live'."

John looked at her dumbly, not sure what to say. When Ivy saw how John was looking at her she turned red.

"There I go again!" She laughed nervously. "Dr. Ragostin says that I ramble too much. Sorry."

"No, it's alright." John assured the girl adding a smile. "It's an interesting fact."

Ivy smiled at John and was about to say something else but her phone rang. She quickly looked at the text she received.

"Duty calls," She announced putting away her phone. "It was a pleasure meeting you John."

John smiled again as they shook hands. "Thank you for the coffee."

"Thank you for not yelling." She flashed a nervous smile. John was tempted to ask for her number, but thought against it. She was young, just starting out in the world; she should not have to worry about John's problems.

They parted way, each with a smile on their faces. John felt better than he had in months. It was not until he returned to his flat that he realized that the bottle of pills was no longer in his pocket. He did not get angry or upset, much to his surprise. He was relieved if anything.

"'Remember to live'." He quoted. "Worth a shot."

He reached for his phone and dialed a number he had not touch in a long while.

"Mike, it's John." He said into the phone, a small smile was beginning to form. "Yes, I know it's been a while. I was wondering if you would like to go for a pint. . ."

-MHSHEH-

The flustered nervous girl walked quickly back to the hotel where she was staying. With each step her posture became straighter and her manner more confidant. Locking the door of the room behind her made her way to the bathroom and took the small object on the counter. She looked at the bottle with the assorted medication as she removed her blond wig and sighed.

Enola Holmes did not mean to run into John Watson that day. She was making a delivery, a simple in and out job, no fuss or muss. But then she saw how down right sad the man looked she jumped in just hoping to lighten his day.

John did not notice the lift as she was cleaning up her intentional mess of coffee from his shirt. She guessed she should have been surprised to find the pills in his pocket, not that she was really looking for them, she just did it out of habit.

The more Enola thought about it the more she realized that she was not surprised. Wilhelm had told her how John had looked at the burial. Even at a distance it was clear how deep of a depression the doctor had already fallen into. She had seen many of the Lehrer's clients in a similar depression when they think they have hit rock bottom.

It amazed Enola how fast John had hit bottom in two months, she could only hope that she got him in a more positive mindset that when they began talking. She wondered if she should tell either of her brothers about John's suicidal thoughts. But she ultimately decided against it. As far as she could tell John trusted and liked Mycroft just as about as far as he could throw him and Sherlock, besides not knowing where he was at the moment, would run back to London and undo all he was working on.

She dare not think of what would have happen to Sherlock if John had indeed take best not dwell on it. Either way it would not have been good for anyone.

No, Enola would not tell her brothers, at least not yet.

There was someone in London who owed her a favor. A rather life indebting one at that and that person could pay it back by keeping an eye on John Watson. At the moment that was all Enola could really do for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, Ivy Meshle is a pseudonym that Enola uses in the books, and Dr. Ragostin is the fictitious employer, a professional finder of things, that Ivy works for. I thought it would be fun to play with here. The bit about the leg bone is also from the books.
> 
> Please review and tell me what you think!


	19. Camera and Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock cannot stand working with Wilhelm. Is Wilhelm truly difficult to work with or just reflecting what Sherlock does not see in himself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set shortly after 'We Begin'.
> 
> Much thanks and adoration to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for all her help and insight for this chapter.

"I think they're over here." Wilhelm said not to anyone in particular as he made his way further into the attic. Sherlock stood behind and looked around; the attic was the old servant's quarters that the Lehrers converted for storage. It was filled with trunks and boxes along with other bric-a-bracs. One such trunk was opened and what was inside surprised Sherlock.

"Isn't that – "

"Amelia got bored when we were in London last." Wilhelm called out politely cutting him off from behind the organized clutter.

"It's been missing for fifteen years." Sherlock stated as he followed Wilhelm's voice.

"Really? Shows you how long it's been since we were both in London. Ah, here is is!" Wilhelm opened the desired trunk and smiled. "Could you help me Will?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the sound of the name the Lehrer had suddenly started calling him. He understood why Amelia and Wilhelm were doing it, so that he could better respond to his new identity, but that did not mean he had to like it. He wanted his old life back, with John, in Baker Street; He wanted to be Sherlock. Will Sigerson was nothing like him, which was the point but it felt like a new skin clinging to him too tightly for comfort when he tried step into the character.

The reason both men where up in the attic was to get Wilhelm's photography equipment. Apparently one of Wilhelm's hobbies, besides being a part-time Robin Hood criminal, was photography. Once they got the equipment they headed downstairs. Both Amelia and Enola were currently out making arrangements for their departure form Britain leaving Sherlock under Wilhelm's every watchful eye.

"Now, do you understand the rule of three in photography?" Wilhelm asked once they reached the sitting room. He sat down on the couch as he took out a camera and adjusted the lens.

"You went to see Mycroft." Sherlock finally state what was bothering him. He may not have seen the inside of the Richard Brook file but he recognized the outside of it, especially the emblem embalmed on the front. But while he knew that Wilhelm had seen Mycroft, he did not know the reason, and not knowing irked him; made him feel less than clever, like everyone else. It was not a position Sherlock was used to.

"Yes." Wilhelm put down the camera and looked at Sherlock. After having meet all three Holmes siblings there was no doubt in Wilhelm's mind that they were related. Of course all three of them would deny any similarities, at least Mycroft and Sherlock would; Enola had long since accepted that she was as manipulative as her brothers and she hated it. There were many things that Wilhelm wanted to say to Sherlock in regards to his treatment and view of Enola, but now was not the time for him to be direct. Lessons had to be taught, even if they were painful.

"Why?" Sherlock hated to ask such a mundane question; he was used to being able to observe and make a deduction. He hated it even more so because the man before him was difficult to read. His wife was the same. Outside the basics there was little he could figure out; he didn't like to admit it even to himself but it put him on edge. The sting of Moriarty's win, his losing the game, was still fresh in his mind; now his deductions seemed to be failing him, he was having to ask questions and get answers like a normal boring person.

"To chat about Elle." Wilhelm crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. "I thought it best to let your brother know that she is capable of more than just stealing paintings and forging passports."

"You were seeking his approval." Sherlock moved to stand in front of him, part of him did not like to admit he felt somewhat intimidated by Wilhelm; he wanted to bring them back onto even footing and maybe even surpass him.

"No," Wilhelm shrugged. "Mycroft's approval in regards to Elle would be nice to have but it's not necessary. If your brother had his way Elle would be back under his care. Did you know she can sing?"

"Interesting." Sherlock smirked. This was the first fun he had in while.

"Interesting?" "Interesting choice of words."

"Do tell." Wilhelm did not sound impress, curious, nervous, concern or anything else people usually sounded when Sherlock was about to deduce everything about them. It was more like the older gentleman was giving Sherlock permission to deduce the meaning behind the choice of words. It annoyed Sherlock but he proceeded.

"'Under his care' is what you said. Most people would have said 'back home." Sherlock started. His brain suddenly alight, his eyes sparked; it felt good to deduce again. "You are either commenting on Mycroft's controlling nature or on something you discovered."

"Which is it Will?" Wilhelm kept his face neutral but his mind was also racing. It was interesting to watch Sherlock mind work, and easy to see how Sherlock gained his superior attitude; it's hard to say humble when your mind is five steps ahead of the rest of the world. Fortunately, Wilhelm was also several steps ahead of the world and Sherlock would never realize that in his current state of mind, something Wilhelm could use to his advantage. For now Wilhelm would let Sherlock have his fun deducing what he could from him.

"On the information you discovered." Sherlock decided. "You're the type of person who would be much more blunt or much more creative with their comments on a person's faults."

"Am I really?" Wilhelm allowed a small smirk to appear on his face.

"Stop interrupting!" Sherlock ordered. Wilhelm's smirk morphed into a full sly smile which only served to irritate Sherlock even further. Sherlock began pacing simply so he would not have to look at the man. "You found something out that deals with Mycroft in relation to Enola, not just that they are brother and sister. I would say . . . "

He stopped talking and pacing as a memory suddenly crept into Sherlock's conscious mind of it's own accord.

"I will tell you when you are older, not before." Mycroft had said to him shortly after their father had died and after his meeting with Mummy.

"I think a light-bulb just turned on in there." Wilhelm remarked when he saw the realization on Sherlock's face.

"Mycroft had Mummy sign something when Father died." Sherlock stated slowly as the realization sunk in. "Something that would place Enola in 'his care'.

Why would Mummy do that? Why would Mycroft even bother?" Sherlock ran a hand through his hair frustrated; thoughts whizzed through his mind as he attempted to deconstruct the memory for more information.

What had happened to Mummy at the time that she was incapable of caring for her own children;had the death of his father affected her more than he thought; had Enola done something he was not aware of? She had always been such a strange child. And what of Mycroft, choosing to pick up the slack? The Mycroft who would have done that, the boy who had been his big brother, was long gone.

"Now's he's stumped." Wilhelm remarked as he picked up the camera and removed the lens.

"What do you know?" Sherlock demanded. Something did not add up and Sherlock needed to know now.

"That you need to learn photography for you to play your part right." Wilhelm remarked casually as he placed a new lens on the camera before placing it in Sherlock's hands. Well, it was more of a shove than placing to emphasis Wilhelm's point. "Also, next time you see your brother try having an actual conversation instead of a witty fight.

"Now the rule of three . . . " Wilhelm continued on with the photography lesson and Sherlock, surprisingly stayed quiet and listened. He knew that Wilhelm would go no further on the topic of Mycroft for that day.

-MHSHEH-

"That man is infuriating!" Sherlock declared as he busted into Enola's room. Enola, for her part, was thankful that she had put down her paintbrush and palate; her brother's unannounced visit startled her a bit and she did not want to deal with an upset Sherlock and a smear on her painting at the same time.

"Thanks for knocking." She muttered as she used a rag to wipe the remnants of paint off her hands before turning to Sherlock who had taken to pacing. "How can you stand him?" He demanded of Enola. He did not even look at Enola; he kept his eyes on the floor as he paced. "He is absolutely full of himself, acting omnipotent and never fully explaining. How do you work with him?"

"How does John work with you?" Enola asked tossing the rag to the side. Sherlock stopped pacing and looked over questionably at his sister who waited for his answer.

"Do you always answer questions with another question?" He asked. He glared at her; he was not in the mood to deal with silliness. Despite his frustration he did notice Enola slightly shrinking away from him under his stare. He made note to try to tone down his frustration, besides it was not aimed at her. He recalled the pervious night when Enola's fear flashed over her face, but he quickly dismissed the point, he had other more important things on his mind.

"Hello Pot, I'm Kettle." Enola shot back keeping eye contact with her brother; she was determined that she would not be overcome with fear as she almost had been the other night. "What I mean is that your description of Wilhelm is the same that many people could use for you."

"I'm not like that!" He snorted. "Yes, you are." She said slightly exasperated. "Look Wilhelm is a teacher and an eccentric one at that. He told me once that he is always teaching and when it's necessary he will use words."

"Your point?"

"Stop interrupting! He's mirroring your behavior to prove a point."

"What point!"

"Again, interrupting!" She threw up her hands in frustration but quickly lowered them as if she was afraid of provoking him. She did not want a repeat of the night before she ran away; to get through to him, it would have to be through cool logic, not heated emotion. She sighed before continuing gently. "If you get this annoyed with Wilhelm parroting your behavior, imagine how all those normal dull minds feel about you."

"So your professor thinks he can teach me." Sherlock said sarcastically almost laughing.

"And apparently it's going to be a long time for you to learn anything." Enola sighed again and began to put away her paints; she was no longer in the mood to be artistic. "Sherlock there is a reason why people turned against you and it's not just because the frailty of fame. It's necessary for you to learn a little courtesy and humility so you can go back to your life and to survive."

Sherlock snorted at his sister, clearly she did not understand. While she had proven herself capable and more intelligent than he had given her credit for in the past, she still did not meet him on the same level. Plainly, it was impossible for her to understand the needs of his brain and the stupidity of the world when she ran around playing Little John to the Lehrer's Robin Hood and 'helping people'.

Enola turned, cleaning her brush, pushing away the hurt as she read his thoughts on his face. His disappointment in her was evident in his expression. Growing up she and her brothers could read each other faces rather easily; Mycroft and Sherlock had to since she refused to speak and Enola just always could tell what was on her brother's minds.

"Had you been any bit kinder to people, the police especially, they wouldn't have turned on you as they did." Enola continued on not letting the hurt come through her voice. Her voice, instead of becoming weaker grew in quiet intensity with each passing word. "Moriarty's plan would never have worked because there would have been more than John and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade to protect you. Yes, you are extremely clever Sherlock, maybe more than me as you so think, but as we've seen just being clever can get you killed."

Sherlock, not really having anything to say, continued to glare at Enola who kept her eyes down on her art supplies. She could not believe she just said that to Sherlock and in the manner which she did. After a few moments had passed Sherlock turned on his heal and stormed out. When the door slammed behind him Enola let or the breath she did realize she was holding and the tears she did not know she was keeping back. Failing to steady herself, Enola fell to her knees and she finally allowed herself to shake as old fears came creeping back into her mind.

Enola never liked Sherlock angry. Right now her brother was just being upset and she understood the reason, but it was too close to angry Sherlock for her comfort.

For the rest of the evening Sherlock practiced with the camera just to have something to do as he mulled over what Wilhelm and Enola had said to him; Enola read Wilhelm's philosophy books to get her mind off of the confrontation.

"Is it just me or does the atmosphere in the house feel extremely tense?" Amelia asked as she sat next to Wilhelm on the couch in their sitting room.

"Yes," He replied looking up from his book. "After we drop off Will in France it won't be as tense."

"How?" Amelia turned to face her husband. "Once their alone he's just going to demean Elle pushing her back to what she was when we first met her."

"Oh Elle is not going with him just yet." Wilhelm explained. "He has to learn how to work with other people without getting on their bad side. That's not going to happen with us or Elle hanging around him. No, humility is a painful lesson to learn and a lesson that has to be learned alone."

"He might survive three months," Amelia stated.

"That's when he is going to call us for help." Wilhelm looked back to his book. "And that's when Elle's going to join him. They're both be ready at that point."

"You're sure about that?" "Have you ever known me to be wrong?" Amelia just sighed as she opened her own book to read. Wilhelm was rarely ever wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell there are still a lot of issues that Sherlock and Enola have to work out between them.
> 
> When I posted this on another website I received an interesting PM complaining that Wilhelm is too perfect - please let me clarify. Wilhelm is a character who is just as smart, if not more so, than the Holmes boys; he would have to be to remain relatively unknown to police for all the crime that he does and to be as successful as he is. He is also meant to counter Mycroft and Sherlock in the sense that yes he is very clever but he is humble enough to know that not everyone can keep up with him. Because he can accept this little fact of the world Wilhelm is very happy. Can anyone say that Mycroft and Sherlock are truly happy? I mean really happy? If it seems that Wilhelm is one upping the Holmes boys, it's because he is - I hope no one is annoyed with that because he is meant to be a positive influence on Enola and eventually her brothers (in a much subtler way).
> 
> So please review and tell me what you think! Yes I will have a chapter where Enola and Sherlock talk things out, and another one with Enola and Mycroft doing the same.


	20. Seven Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An afternoon lesson, ring the bell you're caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a more light hearted chapter after all the very serious ones I've been writing.
> 
> Again, much thanks to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for all her help.
> 
> And to all the kind reviews - thank you! Remember your reviews keep this story and my muse going.
> 
> Thank you and Enjoy!

Carefully she eased herself next to the person without alerting attention to her presence. Making a move for the wallet she smiled when she grabbed and still no reaction; she was almost home free and –

DING!

Enola leaned her head on the mannequin's shoulder as she dropped the wallet back into the pocket.

"You're getting there." Amelia assured her. Over the past two months since the Lehrers took in Enola her health improved greatly; she gained some color back into her face and even her hair had a healthier shine to it. The only thing that bothered Amelia was the girl's smile; it was too mechanical, too forced; almost as if a smile was merely a necessary tool to be polite and nothing to do with being happy. It was like Enola had little practice with a real smile not having many reasons to do so.

"It doesn't seem like it from my point of view." Enola remarked as she took a step away.

Amelia had recently begun teaching Enola the art of pickpocketing and today she was using the traditional seven bells technique. She neither confirmed nor denied the existence of the supposed South American school but the technique she could appreciate; basically a mannequin would be fully dressed with various object about its person and those objects had to be taken off the mannequin without disturbing any of the seven bells hidden.

Over the past two hours Enola was able to get one object without ringing the bells, which was not bad for a fist time jab at it. Enola was able to get an object with little problem, but it was the removing that Enola was having the most trouble. Amelia had to smile because that was how she and Wilhelm found Enola. Small miracles.

"This is your first attempt!" Amelia smiled. "Don't expect to be perfect the first time you do anything. You just need to practice a bit more."

"How did you become a thief?" Elle asked as she made another attempt at the mannequin.

"I was young and bored." Amelia said carefully watching Enola as she moved; looking for what Enola needed to work on and to figure out what techniques would best suit her. "When I was about fourteen when I started; small things at first but by the time I was eighteen I was already stealing beautiful artwork, paintings especially. That's actually how I met Wilhelm, when I was stealing a painting."

"Was he trying to steal the same painting?" Enola asked. Another bell dinged and she sighed.

"No, he caught me." Amelia laughed a little at the memory. "Wilhelm, being the son of a respectable business man, was going about life in the honest way. I was trying to steal something from his father's collection but he caught me and left me no escape route. He's the only person to have ever done that."

"What did he do after he caught you?" Enola asked fiddling with a watch she had gotten off the mannequin's wrist without a sound.

"He offered me a job." Amelia patted the seat next to her for Enola to sit down; the mannequin could wait as they talked. Enola sat down and listen intently to Amelia's story. "He needed something to be stolen back from the person who stole it in the first place. He said that his knowledge in thievery was limited and he needed an expert. So he offered not to call the police if I helped him.

"I countered that he didn't know that I would just leave right after he let me go or that I wouldn't just run off with the goods after I got them." Amelia took the watch to glance at the time. Wilhelm should be back soon from his meeting. "He simply told me I was too intrigued not to help him."

"Were you?" Enola smiled a little, this time it was a little less forced.

"Yes," Amelia laughed. "Wilhelm has always been very good at reading people. And I had a blast; we were stealing back a family heirloom that belonged to someone he knew. It was shortly after that he told me I should go to college and get a degree in Fine Arts. I surprised myself and I did go. It was during that time that we started dating, or courting as he likes to say. We married when I finished my Bachelors of Arts and he was with the FBI as an analyst." Amelia could not help but smile at the fond memories that her story drew up in her.

"How did Wilhelm go from being with the FBI to teaching philosophy?" Enola asked. Her question was really a ploy to hid her surprise at what she had noted in Amelia's description of her relationship with Wilhelm; as far as she could recall her parents had no such fondness between them.

"That, my dear is a story for another time." Amelia patted Enola's hands then handed her a small thin rectangular case from her pocket. Enola opened and discovered it was lock picking tools. "There's a bunch of locks in my studio you can practice on."

"Alright," Enola hopped up from the couch and headed to the studio; as she left Wilhelm came in with a distracted look on his face.

"When you get that face you're either plotting a heist or you're contemplating the secrets and or nature of the universe." Amelia remarked as she walked over to her husband and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Which is it?"

"The latter," Wilhelm handed her the folder he had already looked over for what felt like a thousand times. The meeting with his contacts was an interesting and informative one; it was certainly one that he would not forget so easily. "I need a drink. Would you like one?"

He head to his study where he kept a well stocked wet-bar for moments such as these. Amelia quickly glanced through the folder before following Wilhelm to his study.

"This doesn't make sense." She declared closing the study door behind her. Wilhelm was already pouring whiskey into two glasses.

"I know," He sighed. Taking the two glasses he sat at his desk placing each glass on either side of desk. "The following documents make it more interesting."

"They do, don't they." Amelia sat in front of the desk and took a swig from her glass. "The extent of the psychological examinations are unusual for a seven year old girl, and the conclusions seem like they just wrote the first thing that fit all the visible facts."

"Taking the easy answer as oppose to actually finding it. I honestly don't think anyone has every tried to understand her." Wilhelm sipped his whiskey. "I wonder why her parents had such an exam on her?"

"Her parents?" Amelia looked at Wilhelm in disbelief. "I can understand if parents are trying to find out if their kid has ADD or autism, but this kind of exam is mostly done for adults. This test doesn't take into account the still developing mind of a child. To examine a child with this test allows for false results. It's … cruel."

"Her parents did not understand her." Wilhelm remarked. "That probably contributed to her being so introverted."

"Do you really think we can help her?" Amelia crossed her arms after she placed the folder on the desk. "I mean, do you think we're doing the right thing here?"

"You've seen how she reacts at the mention of 'going home' or 'family'." Wilhelm leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "She needs to heal from whatever forced her to leave her home. She's a misfit, much like you I might add."

His last remarked earned him a wry smile from Amelia.

"Besides, I believe that teaching her thievery will give her a new perspective on the world and thus be able to interact with it better." Wilhelm continued. "We can also homeschool her and get her through college if she likes."

"Give her a well rounded education." Amelia smiled at the idea. It was a good one.

"Exactly," Wilhelm nodded, opening his eyes, but keeping his head back. "You and I both know that it's hard to stay in this game. It's best that we give her as many options as we can."

"Are you going to keep digging?" She asked glancing at the folder.

"I will keep looking for her family and try to reunite her to them." Wilhelm said softly. "A family shouldn't be broken apart. Though if my first impressions of her family are somewhat correct, I will not force her to go back."

"Elle," Amelia said suddenly.

"Come again?" Wilhelm lifted his head to look at Amelia.

"Elle." She said again. "I think we should call her 'Elle'. When I asked her to spell her name I noticed it was 'alone' backwards; essentially she is called 'alone'. We shouldn't call her alone since she now has us to take care of her."

Amelia's natural mothering instincts appeared to be already talking over and Wilhelm could not help but smile. He had already noted in himself the fatherly instinct of protection towards Enola.

"Elle," Wilhelm tried the name. "Yes, I think that does suit her quite well."

"Yes!" They heard Enola cry out. Wilhelm and Amelia looked to the study door than back at each other before racing to see what Enola had done to elicit such a joyous outcry.

When they open the door they found Enola by the mannequin holding all the hidden objects looking at them with a mixture of surprise and accomplishment.

"You did it? Wilhelm asked with a smile. Enola turned around to them and held out the objects.

"I got everything without ringing any bells." Enola announced. She looked at them; both Wilhelm and Amelia could tell she was waiting on what they would say.

"Good job," Amelia smiled broadly. Enola looked both surprised and pleased at Amelia's words; part of her could not believe she just heard them and another part was ecstatic. No one had every deemed anything she had done before worth such words. The compliment was so simple, but to Enola it was the most generous thing anyone had said to her.

-MHSHEH-

Mycroft watched at a distance as his brother poured over the police reports of their sister's disappearance. Sherlock did that about every three months but the results were the same – nothing.

If anyone could disappear from Sherlock or himself it would be Enola.

They had stopped talking about Enola about six months before; it only led to arguing and blaming. Blame was abundant when it came to Enola. He had always found it difficult to relate to his sister due to the decade and half between them in age, but he did try. It was understandable that Sherlock was a bit closer to Enola than he, aided by less of an age gap and the fact he was home more often than Mycroft.

Mycroft wondered if he should tell Sherlock about the papers he had Violet sign.

After a moment or two, Mycroft decided against it; it would just be another wedge in their ever distancing and cooling relationship. Sherlock had always been more favorable towards Mummy; he would let his brother have the illusion of a caring mother.

It was the least he could do for him.


	21. Shall We Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set about three months after 'Camera and Mirror'
> 
> Thank you to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for looking over this chapter.
> 
> And for all the lovely reviews - thank you; you kind and encouraging words keep this story going!
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> Translations at the end of the chapter.

Stumbling about the streets of Marseille was the last thing Sherlock thought he would be doing during his time hunting down the remnants of Moriarty's web. It was ironic how this was what he had wanted; to be a free agent, moving outside the constraints of society. Despite not making much progress as he had hoped for in the past three months, he was able to track down some members to the French sea side metropolis and was able to break down their operations.

Unfortunately he misjudged the situation and without the backup he had come to know and expect from John, Lestrade and even Mycroft, it was much more dangerous than he had originally anticipated. The result; Sherlock was badly injured with a stab wound in his abdomen. He was fortunate that the strike missed his vital organs but he was still bleeding quite a bit. He had already lost enough blood for him to feel lightheaded and a little disorientated. He was doing his best to keep pressure on the wound as John had shown him during their adventures. If his situation was less dire he would have smirked at his choice of words; he missed John so much that even he was referring to his work as 'adventures'.

He was, however, clear-headed enough to become annoyed when a laughing couple came into view. Sherlock did not want to deal with the locals; he needed to get away and somehow find one of Mycroft's contacts for medical treatment.

"Monsieur?" The man of the couple asked when he noticed Sherlock and his unsteady gait. The man motioned for his lady friend to wait a moment and came closer.

Sherlock cursed the betrayal of his body as he collapsed to ground, his breath becoming ragged.

"Vous avez besoin d'aide?"* The man asked rushing to Sherlock's side to help him.

"Est-ce qu'il est grièvement blessé?"^ The woman asked as she came towards the men.

The sound of the woman's voice made Sherlock want to focus on it; it sounded familiar. He tried to look at her as she approached but his eyes were intent on remaining unfocused. He suddenly felt his face cupped in a pair of very feminine hands.

"Arsène, I know him." The sudden use of English by the woman was unexpectant, but Sherlock could not really say anything as his mind slid into unconsciousness.

-MHSHEH-

Sherlock awoke to find himself in a well furnish room with the sun shining through the window. It did not take him long to recall the events of the previous night and he instinctively reached for his wound. It was treated and dressed expertly. Again thoughts of John invaded his mind; closing his eyes, Sherlock pushed the memories back into the recesses of his mind. He could not afford to waste time dwelling on the past. There was too much to be done.

"About time you woke up," The woman's voice was sitting next to him; it was different from the woman's voice the night before. Sherlock towards the voice and found her sitting next to the bed with tired expression on her face. She had fair skin with dark hair that was kept pinned on top of her head and a mischievous glint in her eyes. He found her odd in the sense that there were five different possible deductions he could get from her and all of them were equally possible.

How annoying.

"You are the unexpected guest of M. Arsène Lupin in his home away from home in Marseille." The woman explained as she stood. "You really should have worn something warmer last night. Good news though, I think we got most of the blood out of your clothes; but if you don't like the result I'm sure Arsène can lend you something."

"American." Sherlock wanted to say more but the stabbing pain that manifested when he moved prevented him.

"For this week," She smiled. "Next week, I was thinking German. You can call me Tekla, and you're Will."

"You know me." Sherlock said; he was still trying to decipher the woman's motives, but that proved difficult because there were now seven possible deductions. Which could not possible; whatever medication he was given must have been convoluted his ability to process what he was seeing.

"No," She shook her head. "Never met or heard of you until I saw you laid out bleeding on the dining room table with Arsène stitching you up and Elle holding you down. Lost my appetite because of you."

The door suddenly open and, to Sherlock's great surprise, Amelia walked in.

"Good, you're awake Will." Amelia smiled as she closed the door behind her. She looked exhausted and had made not attempted to hide the fact. Aside from the tiredness she looked well put together. "You gave us quite a scare last night."

"You look awful." Sherlock stated. He then thought that his remarked would have prompted John to admonish him for being rude.

"That's what happens when the person who operated on you stays up all night making sure her patient doesn't go into septic shock on her." Tekla remarked with a bit of snark in her voice. It was a response Sherlock was use to from most people, yet, for some reason, on this occasion he still felt the admonishment.

"Tekla," Amelia spoke softly, but her tone was firm enough for Tekla's next remarks to died on her tongue. "I need you to go help Elle with the paintings."

Tekla looked at Amelia then Sherlock, then back to Amelia. She did not fully understanding what was going on, but she nodded and quickly left the room.

"How are you feeling?" Amelia asked when it was just the two of them. She thought back to when Elle burst the doors open with Arsène close behind supporting an injured Sherlock. Amelia had Arsène and Elle hold down the young man and she worked all the while wishing she had something stronger to give him. She had to admit he looked better now without the blood and the screaming.

"What are you doing in Marseille?" Sherlock asked trying to sit up with little success. His abdomen still felt very sore and he quickly lay back down.

"Still discovering that the body is not just an appendage to the brain?" Amelia laughed humorlessly as she went to the vanity that had all sorts of medical supplies scattered all over the surface and grabbed a pair of latex gloves. She put on the gloves as she walked to the bed. "To answer your question, stealing back paintings for a museum. I know, it sounds strange, but it's true. Now, I need to look at the dressings."

Sherlock grudgingly allowed Amelia to inspect the bandage; she was very professional in her manner and was very careful. Satisfied, Amelia pulled the blanket back up and gently sat on the edge of the bed.

"Wanna' talk about it?" She asked pulling off the gloves.

"About what?" Sherlock was really hoping that she would not attempt to instigate a heart to heart conversation. It was really the last thing he wanted to do with that woman.

"Don't be a jackass." Amelia reprimanded with little anger in her voice. There was actually no anger in her manner, her face displayed her exhaustion as did the rest of her body, but her eyes flashed with disappointment. Sherlock expected anger not disappointment. "I know that can be a little hard for you to act against your nature, but use that 'fantastic' intellect you're so proud of to rise above your baser instincts."

If looks could kill, Amelia would be injured on the floor for her remark towards Sherlock. But she was the type of person that it would take more than two people to take her down. She gave him a small tired smile.

"I recommend that you rest for the next week." Amelia looked away. "Fortunately, we finished our job here and I will be able to make sure you heal properly. No arguments; before you start interrogating me on my qualifications in medicine I want you to remember that you are still alive from a near fatal attack on your person."

Amelia gently removed herself from the bed so she would not disturb Sherlock too much, and left the room, tossing the gloves in a nearby wastebasket with perfect aim without so much as a look.

"And stay put!" She shouted back as she closed the door.

Sherlock recalled something Wilhelm had mentioned in passing to him about Amelia and how she could out-shoot the best sniper the world could find and that did not hesitate to use her gun as it suited her.

Sherlock decided in favor of not getting injured twice in just as many days and stayed in the bed trying not to get too bored out of his mind.

-MHSHEH-

Sherlock did not when he fell asleep, but the room had darkened with the lack of light shining through the windows. He estimated that is was late afternoon. He did not like that sensation of having information missing from his mind. He sighed in frustration.

"The pain killers will do that." He looked up to find his sister standing at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed with a grim look on her face. Sherlock wondered how long she had been standing there watching him sleep. He was thankful that she was not using her American accent. "Plus I think Amelia gave you a slight sedative to help you sleep through the pain."

"What are you doing?" Sherlock demanded.

"Making small talk." Enola remarked lightly but her face held the grim expression. "But I could be truthful and say that I'm simply trying to alleviate my fear making sure that you are still alive and not dead. That the nightmare of you as a cold corpse that keeps pushing itself onto my conscious mind is still just a phantasm of my worried mind."

Sherlock gaped at her. She was one of the few people in the world that could make him speechless; something that annoyed him to no end.

"But as you have remarked many times before, brother mine, I am far too emotional." She continued, uncrossing her arms and putting her hands behind her back. They regarded each other a while before Enola turned away and headed to the door.

"Why did you leave?" Sherlock asked as she reached the door.

"You don't want to know." She insisted without turning around. Her body was tense as she spoke; she really did not wish to talk to Sherlock about when she left.

"Yes I do." Sherlock eased himself into a sitting position on the bed. "I need to know."

"No, you don't." She insisted again and left.

Sherlock leaned his head back and closed his eyes in thought; he did not miss the slight hitch in Enola's voice in her last remark. In every conversation that he had with Enola when they were alone there was a sense of fear underlining her words and behavior. He could not understand why his sister feared him; he could not recall a reason for such a reaction. Something happen, but what?

"My husband has the same look when he's thinking over something very complex." Amelia remarked; Sherlock had not notice her enter the room, he was too deep in his own thoughts.

But since his train of thought was broken he had no choice to pay attention to her so he could at least occupy his mind with something.

"So, how frustrated are you that you aren't as far along with taking down Moriarty's web of crime as you planned.?" She asked handing him a bowl of cut fruit. "Remember, I have no problem force feeding you if need be."

Even though he was not that hungry the prospect of being forced feed was unappealing. He grudgingly put a piece of fruit in his mouth and chewed. If anything it would aid in him not having to talk with Amelia.

"Ooh," Amelia smirked as she grabbed a chair and set it by the bed. Sherlock made note of the gun hosteled under her arm. "The silent treatment. For a man who is as smart as you claim, you are seriously childish. I think my ten year old nieces and nephews act more adult than you. The last remark is not to goad you into a response so you can wipe that look of disdain off your face; it's just a simple comparison."

"Why so interested in my work?" Sherlock asked after he swallowed.

"I'm interested in anything that affects my daughter." Amelia remarked. She noticed the slight pause in Sherlock's motions at her statement, but said nothing about it.

"She's not your daughter." Sherlock said glaring at Amelia.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because she isn't." Sherlock was annoyed by the question – the answer should have been obvious. This claim that the Lehrers had on Enola angered him and he did not know why. "My sister is not your daughter and it would be best if you stop perpetuating that lie."

"For the sake of this conversation I will simply refer to her as Elle." Amelia did not show if she was hurt by Sherlock's remark, instead she was infuriatingly calm. "I find the name 'Enola' ill-suited."

Sherlock said nothing as he popped another piece of fruit into his mouth.

"Will, you've barely made any progress in the past three months on your own." Amelia said earning her an annoyed glare from Sherlock. She couldn't help but smile, the glare was the same as when Enola would glare at her; the only difference was that Enola glare was not so hate filled. "Moriarty had about fifteen lieutenants in his organization and you have only taken down, what? Two?"

"Yes, thank you for pointing out the obvious." Sherlock snapped at her. "I don't need you to point out my mistakes!"

"So you admit to having mistakes." Amelia remarked unaffected by Sherlock's outburst. "Good."

Amelia then stood and left the room, leaving a very confused Sherlock behind.

-MHSHEH-

Sherlock went over the conversation over in his head several times. He hated how the Lehrers could make him feel so confused, though his confusion could have been aided by the pain medication Amelia had given him earlier.

"How are you feeling?"

Sherlock opened his eyes and saw Enola poking her head through the door. The grim expression was not absent from her face, though she had a subtle hints of tiredness beginning to show.

"May we talk?" He asked. His question surprised Enola but she nodded entering the room further and closing the door behind her. She appeared to have just returned from a meeting, most likely another client who could not go to the official law enforcement, and immediately went to check on Sherlock without first changing into something more comfortable. In many ways, her current manner of dress allowed him to see their mother in her, especially Violet's flair for elegance. In some strange way it only confirmed to Sherlock that Enola was his sister, part of his family and nothing to do with the Lehrers.

"Do you always answer questions with another question?" Enola asked dryly echoing his words from when they last talked, as she sat in the chair that Amelia had earlier used. Her eyebrows quirked in a similar way to Mycroft's did when he was attempting to patronize Sherlock.

"If it's necessary." He said. "I find that there is something unsatisfactory in my knowledge in regards to you; and I would like to remedy that."

Enola did not say anything; she waited for Sherlock to continue as she did not know where he was headed.

"Why are you so afraid of me?" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock, this isn't really the time -"

"If not now when, Enola?" Sherlock cut her off. They delayed long enough with this conversation.

"Elle." She corrected him looking at her feet. "Please don't call me 'Enola'."

"You don't want to be called by your name?"

"I don't want to be called 'alone'." She pointed out, still looking at her feet.

"Alright," He agreed; anything to get her to talk with him. "Elle, why are you so afraid of me?"

"How much do you want to know?" Enola asked as she began to fiddle with her necklace. Sherlock was confounded that she always fiddled with the necklace whenever they spoke. It was as if she sought comfort in the metal adornment.

"Everything."

They looked at each other; Sherlock watched as Enola repeatedly tried to get the words out of her mouth, but no sound came. He was about to say something when she stood, her hand still fiddling with her necklace.

"I'll be right back." She said quickly and dashed out.

Sherlock was sure that he had not said anything too offensive; he even acquiesced to her request of being called Elle. Slightly annoyed when some minutes passed, he attempted to get out of the bed but his body protested at the movement.

"Amelia said to stay put." Enola admonished. She had entered the room just as Sherlock was trying to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. In her hand she was holding a thick letter envelope that looked rumpled from repeated handling. "Let me help you."

She rushed over to him and propped his pillows so he could sit up properly. She then gently eased him back into the pillows, working efficiently and effectively. Once Enola was sure Sherlock was comfortably settled she sat back in her chair.

"Knowing me, I knew that I would fumble over my words if you ever asked me about why I left," She explained holding out the rumpled envelope to Sherlock. "And knowing your limited amount of patience and how you would push the point until you knew, I wrote this letter about a month after we dropped you off in Paris. It explains everything."

Sherlock took the letter from her and looked at as if it was an oddity before opening it.

"I'll leave you to it, then." Enola said quietly as she stood.

"Stay," Sherlock requested. He knew if she did leave, she would not come back and he would never understand everything. Not knowing why she did sit back down and watch her brother read her letter.

The letter was very detailed, concise with little flourish in her words as she described her reasons behind her actions since she was a child. Her silence was to not add to the yelling and arguing that seemed constant to her. The lack of display of her intelligence was because she found that no one would listen to due to her youth and inexperience. Her retreating to the stars was to remind her that there was more in the world than her troubles within her family and that beauty did exist despite her seeing so little of it.

Enola further explained in her letter that she cared deeply for her family even though Violet and Siger Holmes seemed to have little regard for her and both her brothers were involved in their own affairs which she understood because of the age gape they would not naturally be that close. But then she further said that she feared her family greatly. Describing them as extremely and heartlessly manipulative, citing examples that she saw as a child. She watched her parents manipulated each other, thinking that the other did not know. She watched Mycroft would use it in his government job and Sherlock when he was playing detective. All while they thought Enola was tucked away in her room reading. They underestimated her and she was use to it.

She brought up his drug use and it brought out the worst in her brother and how her fear grew as she watched her brothers become colder to each other. She admitted that she was afraid that Sherlock would end up dead from it and Mycroft would lose himself in grieve if Sherlock did die from drugs.

The only part of the letter she was rather vague about was the night before she left. Finding Sherlock particularly high that night, she had enough of that behavior. Ridding him of his supply he kept hidden from Violet and Mycroft, Sherlock reacted badly in his drug induced stupor. The night alternated between him yelling and being sick and Enola was with him through the night. When the morning came she put him to bed and left leaving notes for her family saying not to worry.

She signed it sincerely as his sister. No name.

Sherlock place the letter next to him and looked at Enola who had taken to examining her shoes.

"Did I physically hurt you?" he asked. The air gained an uncomfortable weight that made the room tense.

"Yes." Enola did not look up, but her eyes moved to the floor.

"Badly?" He watched her carefully. He did so without his previous bias in mind and looked at her afresh as he would with anyone new he met. That's when he saw the signs, the very subtle but there. The signs of verbal abuse were harder to see than those of physical abuse. Recalling all those times they talked with no one else around; her shrinking away at his words, her grimace when he raised his voice, the unconscious defensive moves when he appeared upset at her – it was all there and he did not see it.

It seems since his fall more and more flaws that he was unaware in himself kept surfaceing. He never connected his drug use of his youth to the disappearance of his sister because he thought he had it u der control.

Apparently not.

"Enough."

"I'm . . . sorry." The words escaped Sherlock's mouth with a sigh, as if even now, they took effort to say.

She stood and finally looked at Sherlock. "I . . . "

Sherlock was surprised when he suddenly found himself in an embrace by Enola. They had never hugged as children; they were not really encouraged to do so. Her demeanor was that of a frightened child trying to calm down in the embrace of a parent; Sherlock had often seen that when he was at Scotland Yard working on a case.

Unlike those small children, Enola did not cry, she just clung to him.

Not knowing what else to do Sherlock placed his arms around her and just held her. He wondered if this is what normal siblings did.

"Are you off the drugs?" She asked after a while still holding on to him.

"I smoke," He offered.

Enola pulled away and looked at him with a smirk on her face.

"Wilhelm smokes a pipe," She said. "I guess I can survive with that little vice."

Sherlock smirked at her statement shaking his head. He wondered if normal brothers found their sisters this strange.

-MHSHEH-

It was late into the night when Amelia's phone rang. She did not realize how late it was, as she got caught up in a good book. She also did not mind who was calling.

"Do you have any idea what time it is over here?" She asked with a wry smile.

"Yes," Wilhelm said. "I also know that you would be up reading."

"Guilty as charged." Amelia smirked as she placed a bookmark in the book before putting it away. "The job went without a hitch, though everyone did miss seeing you. We only had one surprise."

"Oh," Wilhelm was intrigued. "What was that?"

"Arsène and Elle ran into Will stumbling about in an alley with a stab wound." Amelia explained. She waited for Wilhelm to respond but nothing came; she even checked to make sure her phone did not drop the call. "Wilhelm?"

"He's still in France?" Wilhelm sounded a bit disappointed and surprise. "I thought he would have been further east by now."

"I was surprised too." Amelia agreed.

"How is he?"

"Signs of malnutrition, lack of sleep and that's before he survived a really bad attack." She explained. "No signs of drug use, which is good. I know you were worried about that when he left."

"Where are you guys now?"

"Arsène was nice enough to let us use his apartment until Will is more stable to move. Right now he's resting in bed talking with Elle."

"Really?"

"I've been surreptitiously checking on them to make sure everything's alright." Amelia kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet underneath her skirt. "They've been talking for hours now."

"You put cameras in the room." Wilhelm said dryly.

"And this surprises you?" Amelia replied with equal dryness. She glanced over to her computer on which had the feed from the cameras in the room watching Sherlock and Enola. They were still talking; Enola was sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed, telling her brother some story of a heist she did and Sherlock, fluffed up against the pillows, was making remarks here and there in the story.

"Not in the least my dear," He assured her. "We have been married far too long for us to be surprised by the other's actions."

"So I shouldn't be surprised that this crazy little plan of yours worked." She looked away from the monitor.

"Which crazy plan would that be?" He asked. "I have so many in motion right now."

Amelia laughed; Wilhelm could always make her laugh.

"Giving Enola back her family." Amelia said still smiling. "And giving them in a way that has allowed for some healing to be involved."

"Well, one down and two to go." Wilhelm responded. Amelia could hear the smile on her husband's face. "The other brother is almost there; the mother I'm not to sure about."

"Brother first, than the mother." Amelia said. "That way all the children are together when they go to the mother."

"Agreed; now off to bed with you!" Wilhelm demanded playfully. "You need sleep and make sure the children don't stay up all night."

"I'll go to bed," She stood and stretched out before grabbing her shoes and heading to her room. She smiled as she looked at the camera feed; Enola was smirking and Sherlock was pouting at something that had been said, yet both their eyes were filled with playful indignation. For the first time Amelia could recall, they looked like siblings. "But I make no promises for the Holmes children."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *'Do you need help?'  
> ^'Is he badly hurt?'  
> Please do forgive me for my French. I only took two years of it and it has since fallen out of use. So if it's incorrect please to PM me so I can fix it. Thanks!  
> Review - tell me what you think!


	22. Chats and Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilhelm arrives for an unexpected chat with Mycroft which leads to more trust between the two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set around the same time as 'Shall We Talk'
> 
> A huge thanks to all who reviewed, favorited, and alerted. I'm very glad people are still reading this after so many chapters.
> 
> I'm indebted to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for looking over this chapter and giving me great advice!
> 
> Please read and enjoy the following. Don't forget to tell me what you think!

Mycroft was surprised when he returned home one early evening to find Wilhelm standing across the street. Despite the chilly evening weather, Wilhelm wore no over coat. He looked like a professor who just walked out of his classroom for a bit, complete with a jacket with the elbow patches and a causal hat.

Wilhelm smiled and waved at Mycroft as he got out of his car. It had been three months since Mycroft saw the man and he wondered why he was standing across from his house.

"Something wrong, sir?" Anthea asked from the car. Mycroft looked down to her and pondered.

"No, nothing at all." He smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He closed the car down and it drove away. Wilhelm crossed the street still wearing that smile.

"You certainly work late." The American remarked.

"What are you doing here?" Mycroft demanded politely.

"Came by for a chat." Wilhelm shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I decided against picking the lock and waiting for you inside. Thought that would be slightly offsetting."

"A bit." Mycroft remarked dryly. He briefly thought that Wilhelm was unable to get in because of the new security he installed, but decided against it. If Wilhelm was able to get into his gun safe in his locked desk with no signs he had done so, the man could get into anything. "You obviously wish to talk to me about something so come inside."

"Thank you." Wilhelm nodded his head touching the brim of his hat. It was an old fashion gesture that had fallen out of use since the decline of hats as a fashionable accessory for men. For anyone else the gesture would have been over the top, but for Wilhelm . . . it just suited him too well.

The two men walked inside and Mycroft kept his guard up, it would be unwise to let it down considering who he was now conversing with. He hung up his coat and umbrella before turning to watch the thief.

"How's the hand?" Wilhelm asked as he examined the art in the hallway; he asked as if it was a conversation between work colleagues, one having returned from a long absence due to illness or misadventure. It was dull, pleasant chatter – something one would not expect from the man who had done the deed to begin with.

"Fine." Mycroft said pointedly, unconsciously flexing it for an unneeded reminder that it had fully healed. He was instantly filled with annoyance at the reflex betraying a sign of weakness to the thief as he put his hands behind his back in an attempt to hide the reaction. But he put his annoyance aside as he turned his attention to the matter at hand. "What is it that you wanted to chat about?"

"You, actually." Wilhelm had moved on to another object in the hall to observe. He took off his hat and began to twirl it in his hands. Mycroft had to wonder if Wilhelm might be planning to steal something from his home with the way he was looking around. "How have you been holding up?"

"You're inquiring after my health?" Mycroft asked disbelievingly. Wilhelm was certainly an odd man and behind his mask of cold indifference, Mycroft hated to admit it, but it unnerved him.

"Yes," Wilhelm turned to face him. "So how are you?"

"Fine." Mycroft insisted, but the answer only elicited a smirk from the other man.

"The very British stiff upper lip." Wilhelm could not help but sound extremely amused. Mycorft's eyebrows raised in question causing Wilhelm to almost laugh; Enola had the same expression when she needed clarification.

"Never try to lie to a conman." Wilhelm stated in a way of explanation. "I think that we should agree not to lie to the other."

"You're proposing a truce?" Mycroft moved to his study with Wilhelm following behind him.

"We share a common interest." Wilhelm closed the study door behind him.

"Really?" Mycroft turned and smiled politely to the thief. It was the kind of smile reserved for heads of state and diplomats and did not reach his eyes.

"Yes," Wilhelm returned the smile, but with more a genuine glint in his eye. "We're both invested in the welfare of you sister. Since neither of us wish to see her hurt by our actions it is best that we do not lie to each other."

"How can I trust anything you say?" Mycroft sat at behind his desk. "Your occupation requires you to be a consummated liar."

"I could very well say the same thing about your job." Wilhelm tossed his hat on a bust near the door before taking a seat across from Mycroft. "Only with my job I don't use taxpayer's monies. But knowing your entire family has trust issues I have this."

He took out from the inside breast pocket of his jacket a jump drive and placed it on the desk within Mycroft reach. Mycroft made no move to the drive; instead he just looked at it before looking back up to Wilhelm.

"A good faith gesture," Wilhelm leaned back in his chair. "On that there is a list of some very nasty people who have been able to get into your country under your extremely, but not completely, through radar. It also includes a list of their crimes, countries with warrants for their arrests, and known aliases."

"This isn't – "

"Me using you to get rid of my competition?" Wilhelm finished for him as he brushed an invisible speck of dust from his shirt cuff. "I am a professor, and a thief. I am not, however, a murder, drug or human trafficker, or terrorist. The people on that list are those things and worse. I am fully capable of handling my competition without the help of a politician. Don't worry there isn't any viruses on it that will cause your government to shut down."

The men regarded each other; Mycroft thinking of Wilhelm's offer and Wilhelm deciphering signs of declining health in Mycroft. Having lived with Enola and have met Sherlock, he knew exactly what to look for and where.

"Where is Enola?" Mycroft asked; he still had not taken the jump drive.

"Elle is in Marseille." Wilhelm supplied. "She's with my wife and friends, helping a small museum retrieve some stolen items. Elle's in good hands – Arsène is quite capable – "

"I hope you're not referring to Arsène Lupin the French 'gentleman thief'?" Mycroft asked quite suddenly almost sitting straighter in his chair.

"You know him?"

"Sherlock mentioned the name in a case he worked a few years ago."

"Ah yes, Arsène did mention that when we were working together last." Wilhelm smiled. "Your brother was the only one who almost caught him."

"Enola's with him?" Mycroft could not really believe what he was hearing. As much as he did not like the Lehrers for bring Enola into the criminal world, he much less like the fact she was cohorting with the only thief to have eluded Sherlock – which was saying something. He found this to be unacceptable for his sister to be in such company. First Moriarty and now Lupin; he wondered how many other big name criminals Enola personally knew and worked with.

"They're very good friends." Wilhelm remarked causally. Seeing the subtle signs of worry in Mycroft's face he almost smirked. "Well, who do you think taught her to steal so well?"

"I was under the assumption that you did." Mycroft leaned by in his chair relaxing a tad. He was already making plans to find out more about Arsène Lupin as soon as possible.

"Amelia and I taught her the basics," Wilhelm smiled at the memory. "But for the finesse and charm, that was all Arsène."

"Finesse and charm?" These were not quite the words Mycroft would have used to describe his sister; but then again he had not much opportunity to become better acquainted with her since she reappeared.

"Stealing is not just about putting on black and repelling down the sides of buildings. Not every operation calls for brute force; you of all people should know this." Wilhelm chuckled as he glanced at his watch. "I should get going. Have to see a man about a dog. You still have my contact information if you ever just want to talk."

"About what?" Mycroft was a bit taken aback by the offer and was even confused by it.

Wilhelm spread his hands out as if presenting an invisible object to Mycroft as he stood. "Anything at all. You look stressed; do try to take it easy at some point."

The thief grabbed his hat and nodded to the politician before putting it on. Instead of heading straight to the study door Wilhelm made his way to a chess board that was set up by a window. A gift from Siger left to Mycroft for when he graduated from school. Wilhelm considered the board before moving a white pawn.

"Your move," Wilhelm smiled and left.

Mycroft waited until he hears the front door closed before he allowed himself to relax. Wilhelm was not that far off when he remarked that Mycroft looked stressed, he was indeed stressed. There was a backlash in his department shortly after the discovery that Moriarty's code was false. He gained some grim satisfaction of pointing out to his superiors that his brother's life was pointlessly wasted and that they were played.

The following day Mycroft had tech go over the jump drive to see what was on it; as Wilhelm had said there were no viruses and it did contain quite an extensive list of terrorist currently within Great Britain. Mycroft put the list to good use.

When he returned to his home that night and before he retired to bed, Mycroft made a detour to his study and moved a black pawn knowing that Wilhelm would show up again at some point. It, also, would not do for Mycroft to be outdone by this man.

Wilhelm did reappear at random intervals over the next six months, always pleasant, always smiling. The two men talk about various things; Wilhelm, Mycroft was surprised to discover, was well versed in many things from philosophy to history to political science. At the end of each visit another move was made on the chess board. Oddly enough, Mycroft found himself looking forward to the visits.

They never ran out of anything to talk about. Wilhelm never pried into the goings on of Mycroft's work with the claim that politics bore him. Mycroft did, however, pry into Wilhelm's work whenever he was not asking about Enola. Wilhelm never talked of his thievery or much of Enola, but of his legitimate occupations.

"Criminal profiling?" Out of all things Mycroft expected from Wilhelm that was never on the list. Currently, the two men were enjoying an after dinner drink at a club that Wilhelm had gained membership in years before as a thank you for services rendered. Mycroft did not inquire as to what those services were.

"Yes, for most Federal Agencies," Wilhelm shrugged. "I did not do it for long, but I'm considered an expert in the field and every so often I give a lecture on it to new and rising agents and the local police force."

"How did come to your current occupation from that?"

"I had a friend in desperate need of help but was unable to do anything because the law prevented him." Wilhelm causally explained. "My wife had always had a knack for it and I learned enough from my work as a profiler to do something about it. And before you ask, my friend lost his home in some mortgage creditor scam. The details are rather boring, but at the same time you almost wanted to shoot the scum bags. Actually, come to think about it, I think my wife did shoot one of them; not fatally of course."

"Of course," Mycroft remarked drily as his phone began to vibrate. He looked at the text and sighed.

"Duty calls this late?" Wilhelm asked taking a sip from his drink.

"The sun never sets on the British Empire." Mycroft said as he put the phone away. "Knight to D-5."

"Good move," Wilhelm remarked as he pulled out a thick envelope and handed it to Mycroft.

"What is this?" Mycroft took the envelope and examined it. His name was written across the front in a handwriting he did not recognize. He would have said that the handwriting looked like his mother's, but on closer inspection it was not.

"A letter from Elle," Wilhelm took another sip, finishing his drink. "She felt that she could better explain her actions to you in the written word rather than in speech. She told me it explains everything."

"Everything?" Mycroft slipped the letter into his briefcase.

"Elle added that you would know what she was talking about." Wilhelm offered. "I have no idea what she wrote."

Mycroft was about to say something but Wilhelm's phone vibrated. The thief looked at the text and laughed.

"My wife wishes me to inform you that you need to sleep more and to stop having all nighters." Wilhelm smiled as he glanced up to Mycroft.

"How could she possibly know that?" Mycroft asked as Wilhelm stood.

"She is a most perceptive woman." The two men made their way out to the street. "Not in the same as you, but she has a gift."

They bid each other good night and went their separate ways. Once Mycroft handled the crisis at the office he went home utterly exhausted. Instead of going to sleep his curiosity got the better of him and he read Enola's letter.

It did indeed explain everything; the reasons behind her actions as a child until she ran away. The part of the letter that most intruded him was her explanation of why she did not return home. Explaining that when she left she had no real plan other than getting away from her unhappy situation. She did not blame any one person in the Holmes family for her leaving; instead she explained that they all contributed to her departure, even Siger though he had been dead for many years at that point. Falling into the company of the Lehrers was a happy accident. Wilhelm and Amelia instantly began treating her like a daughter giving her the affection and proper discipline needed in raising a child. There were many occasions that Wilhelm offered to bring her home saying it was her choice to stay with them or not. She discovered as time past that she was home with the Lehrers.

Enola stayed with the Lehrers because they became her parents and the people she worked closely with, who she referred to as her 'crew', became very quirky siblings. Even with this new family she found both he and Sherlock were still her brothers and nothing would ever change that. Enola both feared and loved her brothers, but she was discovering since their re-acquaintance her fear of them was becoming less. She cited that perhaps this was an increase in maturity on all their parts but more likely it was the fact that she was not treated as a failure by her new family thus she was able to grow into her own person without the fear of disappointing someone.

She ended the letter saying she looked forward to the day that she no longer had any fear of Mycroft and Sherlock. A day, she hoped, was fast approaching.

She signed the letter sincerely as his sister, no name.

Mycroft folded the letter and returned it to the envelope. Enola was still ignorant of Mycroft's involvement in Sherlock's downfall; at least she was when she wrote the letter. Mycroft found himself gladly thankful for this; it would be foolish to presume that if Enola knew of his actions she would not retaliate in some way. Most likely she would disappear again and this time, there would be no chance to find her again. That was something he did not want at all. The first time she was gone he was, of course, upset and worried; he would never admit how much it effected him. Six months after she left Mycroft and Sherlock got into a heated discussion over her. Sherlock accused his brother for not trying to do anything to find her and that he was the one doing all the work. Mycroft was doing all he could to find her, using what resources he could spare to located their wayward sister.

"You don't care." Sherlock spat at him .

"Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock." He said calmly to his brother. Mycroft could not afford to become to emotional; when one became emotional one missed vital clues.

It was the last discussion the brothers had over their sisters. She was never talked of again until she reentered both their lives again, almost a completely different person and talking.

Of course Sherlock learnt of his involvement in Moriarty's smearing campaign. Mycroft was not surprised. The two brothers had a very long phone conversation about month ago on the subject. Apparently Enola was friends with a computer hacker who would, on occasions when he got bored and wanted to practice, would hack into high security files of government. The hacker's favorite item to get into was the personal interoffice emails – evidently their read like a soap opera and were great fun.

It was understandable that Sherlock was upset by Mycroft's actions, but oddly enough he understood them. They came to an odd agreement not to discuss it; the past was the past and nothing could change it. They also agreed to be a bit more cordial to each other, especially when in the presence of others. Mycroft noticed that Sherlock was making quite an effort not to give him any verbal jabs. They never wanted the 'divide and conquer' tactic to work on them again. They also wanted to slowly bring Enola out of the criminal world and get her established in a safe legal life. It would not due to have her playing the wild card as much as she did.

It did not escape Mycroft's attention Sherlock's use of the name 'Elle' in their conversation. From what he could gleam this conversation with his brother and the many he had with Wilhelm his younger siblings appeared to have developed a fledgling sibling bond. Something that both gladden and irked him. With this new bond it would make it easier to pull Enola out of her criminal lifestyle, but it also made Mycroft feel a bit isolated from her.

Mycroft safely tucked the letter away with his other important documents and looked at the time. He could get a few hours of rest easily before he had to return to the office. There would be more time to ponder all this at a later time.

So he took Amelia's advice and slept.


	23. Travel and Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The misadventures of Sherlock and Enola during the Great Hiatus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for her help with this chapter.
> 
> This is set shortly after 'Shall We Talk' with insperations of cases mentioned in the original Sherlock Holmes stories but Watson never went into detail about them. Not all of them happen back to back but over the course of the Great Hiatus. See if you can name them all - the first is rather easy.

Sherlock was wondering why he agreed to bring his sister along with him as he watched her say goodbye to Amelia. He did not remember exactly saying yes when Amelia brought up the prospect with him. They were talking or arguing, it could have been either, when suddenly Amelia joyfully exclaimed that they finally agreed on something.

"I knew we thought alike on that." Amelia smirked at him.

"I only remarked on my sister's abilities concerning puzzles and riddles." Sherlock said quickly.

"Exactly." Amelia left the room with Sherlock behind wondering what on earth they agreed on.

Next thing he knew Enola was going with him to assist him. He did not want her to come with him for the simple fact that it would be too dangerous for her to go and he could not spare his attention to keep her out of harm's way. When he stated this to the women they did their best not to break down laughing. A feat they failed to accomplish.

"Elle is full of surprises," Amelia said to him just before they departed. "Take this as an opportunity to get to know her better."

-MHSHEH-

"We'll never talk about this." Sherlock said gravelly as they walked through the airport terminal.

"Agreed," Enola nodded. "The world is not ready to know and I don't think the world would ever actually be ready to hear about it." She could not help but flash her brother a small smirk. "Plus people may think we're a bit insane."

"Do not tell the Lehrers." Sherlock demanded. He had come to learn that smirk meant trouble, usually for him

"Nor John or Mycroft." Enola added. They took a seat at their gate and waited for their flight. They sat in silence not really knowing what to say next. That is until Enola started to laugh softly.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"I was just thinking what your friend John would entitled this little adventure on his blog." Enola tried to control her laughter, but it was becoming difficult. "I can see the title, even now. I wonder how Miss Briggs would react to it."

"Don't say it." Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head. He could already see the title forming in his head, and in the back of his heart, he ached a little to be home, scolding John as he gave yet another case a rubbish title.

"'The Giant Rat of Sumatra', followed by John's witty narration of the events." Enola looked at her brother with a huge grin plastered on her face.

Her good mood was infectious as Sherlock could not help but give a small laugh of his own.

"And that is why we are definitely not telling John." Sherlock smiled.

-MHSHEH-

"I still can't believe he did that." Enola said as she and Sherlock got out of the cab. Sherlock paid the driver before giving his sister an annoyed look.

"We are not going to talk about it." He said exasperatedly heading to their rented flat. He was beginning to understand the term 'pesky baby sister' that he had heard thrown around by peers throughout his life time and noted a corner of his mind had started to link Enola to it.

"I mean for a man who is considered half blind he had really good aim." Enola continued; she was really having too much fun at Sherlock's expense to stop. "How close was it to your head?"

"He wasn't aiming for me." He pointed out as the opened the door. They went inside and headed upstairs. Sherlock's face was set in a small scowl and Enola's was in a smirk. When they got inside their flat Sherlock immediately went to the kitchen to put on the kettle. "Dundas was aiming for his wife."

"I'm just surprised that his dentures didn't bite off your nose as they went by." Enola laughed as she caught the rag Sherlock threw in her direction.

-MHSHEH-

"Let's see," Enola took out her phone and pulled up a document. "We can mark off Huret, the Boulevard assassin, Morgan, the poisoner, Bert Stevens, the mild manner murderer, and Wilson . . . the notorious canary trainer. Really?"

"Something wrong?" Sherlock asked as he finished handcuffing the last of the unconscious men.

"Notorious canary trainer." Enola remarked drily. "Next thing you know it's going to be the infamous dog walker."

"I do not assign the nicknames of criminals." Sherlock said between heavy breaths; he was leaning over resting his hands on his knees for support. Enola, on the other hand, looked to have barely broken a sweat. "Where on earth did you learn to fight like that?"

"From former HaMossad leModiʿin uleTafkidim Meyuḥadim agents," She explained pronouncing the Hebrew very well. "And the Swiss."

"The Swiss?"

"Historically considered the best mercenaries in the world." Enola glanced in a reflective surface to fix her hair. "I've learned both ancient and modern techniques of hand to hand combat. But I have to admit your fisticuffs was incredibly cute to watch."

Sherlock just glared at her as he sat in one of the few remaining unbroken chairs in the room. "You are not telling John about this."

-MHSHEH-

"You recognize the forgeries?" Sherlock handed the file to his sister who looked at it with great interest.

"It's definitely a Conk-Singleton forgery." She nodded before collapsing on the couch. "They signed it."

"Where?" Sherlock took back the file.

"In the lower right corner." She looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "Might need a magnifying glass to see the initials. I don't blame them for tagging it – it's beautiful work."

Her last remark made Sherlock pause. No matter how long they worked together Enola still acted and thought like a thief, much to Sherlock's annoyance. He did not remark on it, not that she would have heard him as she had dozed off on the couch. Shaking his head, Sherlock grabbed an afghan and laid it gentle over her.

-MHSHEH-

Sherlock was outside observing bees as they flew from flower to flower and decided that the Island of Uffa was a beautiful as people had claim. Elle joined him in the garden.

"Well, Grice Patersons is most appreciative of our help." She remarked. Sherlock said nothing but inclined his head to acknowledged that he had heard her her and continued to watch the bees. She sat next to him and took to watching the bee as well. "I have a few books on apiology if you like to borrow them."

"Why do you have books on apiology?" He asked. A bee decided to hover in front of his face for a moment before flying off to its nest.

"You shoot holes in the wall when you get bored, I read too much and get another degree." Enola explained.

Sherlock glanced at her; she had a few minor cuts and scrapes on her face, as did he, from their recent run-in with a few hired hands. It was becoming too easy to fall into her lifestyle; he often went against the police and their procedure, when he consulted for them, but it was never to the extent that Enola did.

She would easily side step any law that worked against her; it did not seem to register with her on some level that it may be wrong. Sherlock was beginning to understand what John might have felt on the opposite side when he was rude to people and spoke without filtering his thoughts.

He wanted her out of this life. He had seen the intelligence working in her mind on multiple occasions; he could not help but wonder what she could achieve if she was not so focused on the crime that had become so integral in her life. He failed to acknowledge, however, that she may not have had the confidence to use any of the intelligence if not for the life she led now.

"So you want to borrow them?" She asked looking over at him.

Sherlock found himself giving her a small smile and nodding.

-MHSHEH-

"Will you stop that!" Enola pleaded with Sherlock again.

"Why?" Sherlock looked up to her. They were standing out of the rain under an awing across the street from the Camberwell home. It was raining hard and they were waiting for it to lighten before they made their next move.

"You keep winding Mr Camberwall's pocket-watch every thirty minutes." Enola sighed pulling her coat tighter around her body. She turned to face the house again. "Those types of watches do not need to be wound that often and, I might add, you seem slightly obsessed with the dead man's watch making you appear slightly not all there."

"Family heirloom," Sherlock said as he stuffed his hands into his pockets keeping a good grip on the watch. He still watched her to study her rection. "Passed from father to son on the son's nineteenth birthday as a reminder to make good use of his time as the boy enters into his adult life."

"I'm sure we had this conversation last night when we were at the crime scene." She remarked her face bored and remotely close to the face Sherlock would have used while talking to Anderson at a crime scene. When the police had secured the area after the detectives and forensics left the night before, Enola was easily able to get herself and Sherlock into the crime scene. Camberwall's watch was able to reveal to the Holmes's who killed him. With a few anonymous calls and nudges in the right direction, the police were very fortunate to find the killer within two and half days after the murder.

"Why not give this vital piece of evidence to the police?" Sherlock asked.

"You wanted to cooperate with the police – that's new. The reasons very simple," Enola looked at Sherlock again. "That watch would have been in evidence for years; a boy needs his father and since his father is now gone he will have his father's watch to be reminded of him. He needs his father's watch."

"Sentiment." He cocked his head to the side as he thought over Enola's words.

"Yes." Enola smiled. She looked at him like she was proud he could recognize such a foreign state of emotion. The rain was finally lightening. "Let's go and return it now before the rain picks up again."

-MHSHEH-

"I told you not to aggravate Matthews." Enola chided her brother as she handed him an icepack.

"It was a completely irrational reaction!" Sherlock grimaced as he spoke and placed the icepack on his cheek. He looked at the spectacles that Amelia had given him and was annoyed to see that one of the lenses had cracked.

"Because thugs are so known for their rational behavior." Enola's words were dripping with sarcasm earning her an annoyed glare from Sherlock. She just shook her head as she scrolled though her connections on her phone.

"Who are you contacting?" He asked.

"You are so lucky I know a dentist in this town who owes me a favor." Enola began texting. "He is very good and comes highly recommended. He'll be able to replace your left canine with none the wiser."


	24. Difficult Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some cons involve murder and Sherlock learns more about his sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for her help with this chapter.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

To say Sherlock was surprised to receive a text from Wilhelm requesting that he and Enola come to New York City would be an understatement. Not that he would reveal that to anyone. He would have said no but when his sister caught sight for the text, the look of longing and homesickness in her eyes made it hard for Sherlock to deny her.

Enola, of course did not say anything except to ask that he would tell the Lehrers she said hello in his reply. Despite her best efforts in keeping her tone light and cheerful, Sherlock could detect the sadness in her manner knowing she would not see the Lehrers any time soon. She missed them.

Damning his growing sense of sentiment for Enola he texted Wilhelm.

-MHSHEH-

Hatch and Tekla watched at a safe distance as Elle and her friend, Will, verbally duke it out in the middle of Lehrer's loft apartment. They had never seen two people argue the way Elle and Will did. Each had valid points but somehow made each other appear ridiculous in their points. Each side had a convincing argument but at the same time was torn down by the other methodically.

"I should have brought popcorn." Hatch whispered to Tekla who nodded in agreement.

"How long do you think they can keep this up?" Tekla whispered back.

"I don't see!" Elle said with her voice rising in volume but not quite shouting.

"You see, but you don't observe." Will clarified, his voice beginning to increase in volume as well.

"You get so caught up in the details that you can't step back and see the whole picture!"

"You miss the vital – "

"Enough!" Wilhelm shouted from the door of the apartment cutting off the argument from continuing. "I am certain that our neighbors would appreciate it if you two would hush. I could hear you before the elevator doors even opened."

Elle kept her eyes to the ground; she was still fuming but it was towards Will not Wilhelm. Will stared down Wilhelm, but took the admonishment with stride. It was not the first nor the last time he would feel the sting of admonishment; it had been part of life back home and he was used to it. Wilhelm's admonishments were, however, a little different in the sense Wilhelm got after Will in the tone of Will should know better, not from annoyance or frustration.

"I assume that you were too busy arguing to introduce yourself properly." Wilhelm remarked as he hung up his jacket and motioned to Hatch and Tekla who were still seated on the couch. They both gave a little wave to Will who briefly looked at them before looking back at Wilhelm.

"I have not." Will confessed grudgingly.

"Then allow me." Wilhelm shut the door behind him making it sure it was appropriately locked before dragging Will to his other guests. "This is Marcus Hatcherson, computer programmer and software designer by day and computer hacker of the best caliber by night. He goes by Hatch."

Hatch stood and offered his hand to Will who gave him a firm handshake. A good handshake was always a good sign for Hatch.

"This lovely lady, I believe you two have met briefly before, is Tekla Guensert, part time appraiser and full time grifter. Good luck trying to find out if that's her real nomenclature." Tekla smiled and gave a small nod to Will who returned it. "Hatch, Tekla, this is Vilhelm Sigerson, photographer and part-time detective. We call him Will."

"You're a detective?" Tekla asked, a bit surprised. "My dear Wilhelm, I know you rub elbows with people on both sides of the law, but do you have to bring us into such a practice?"

"He's not an official detective." Wilhelm explained. "And for this case we could use his expertise."

"Not wanting to sound rude, but why?" Hatch asked. "What makes this case any different?"

"We may be dealing with a potential unknown serial killer who is seems to be targeting our client's family, especially his children. Three of his four children died under unusual illnesses before they reach the age of six." Elle explained. She was busy closing the blinds so as to not have glare on the multiple computer screens that hung on the loft's walls they used to display plans for their cons and visual aids. "Will has aided in murder investigations, so he would know what to look for."

"Cool," Hatch said turning on the computer screens and plugged in his laptop. "About Will, not the killer."

"Nice save." Amelia called from the part of the loft that was partition off for her restoration studio. She was finishing a restoration order from a private collection in New York City that was going on loan to a museum. "I'm glad you two stop arguing." She remarked to Will and Elle. "It was damaging my calm."

Hatch snickered causing Will and Elle to glare at him. "What?" He could not help but be taken aback by how similar the two glares were but for the moment, with the job at hand, he left it to mull over in the back of his mind.

"Let's get started." Wilhelm announced motioning for Hatch to start and for Elle and Will to sit down.

-MHSHEH-

The con played out in a week and it was impressive to see how the thieves worked together. Sherlock found them quite efficient. But that was overshadowed by the conclusion of the con.

It was discovered that the client's own wife was a heartless woman and the one behind the deaths of the children. The crew watched as the woman was taken away by the police in handcuffs; she had no remorse in her face, it only showed how upset she was at being caught.

Wilhelm was currently with the client offering comfort as best he could at that the time. The client held on to his youngest and only child as he watched emptily at his wife in the back of a police black and white. Hatch and Tekla were together standing a bit away with Hatch putting a comforting arm around Tekla which she readily accepted. Amelia stood by her husband not trusting herself to be alone at that moment, she was quite upset.

Sherlock found Enola standing the furthest away from the commotion of the arrest. They stood together in silence watching the police scramble about. They had often stood in silence together after they finished taking down another Moriarty connection; it was a habit they never quite lost from their childhood. Oddly enough they found some degree comfort knowing that the other was close by.

"They were her own children," Enola finally said as the police drove the woman away. She was using her American accent, which still irked him no end, but seeing the haunted look on Enola's face, he decided to let it go. "Why would a mother do that to her children?"

"The insurance on the children was rather substantial." Sherlock said. Cold hard logic was all Sherlock could muster at the moment, especially when he found himself so worried by the look of despair on Elle's face. He wondered if normal brothers felt the way he did when he wanted to removed that disheartening looks of despair from his sister's face.

"Which she set up herself." Enola countered, almost biting on her words. "She had children only to kill them for money and fooled the world with her sweet smiles. I don't know what's more disturbing; that woman or the fact you got so giddy when you figured out that the children didn't have a genetic disease but were poison."

"I was not giddy," Sherlock defended himself. He briefly recalled the Baskerville case when he solved it he was impressed that the weapon was the crime scene itself. John chided him on his timing.

"You were giddy." She stated again.

"It was kinda creepy." A new voice added.

Sherlock turned around to find Treasach Carleton standing behind them. A large man with a great amount of experience dealing with the more violent aspects of cons and heists. A native to New York City, he worked as a form of a hired hand to either send a message or retrieve an object, whatever he was requested to accomplish. Before he met the Lehrers he worked with many unpleasant people and never talked about them. He was Enola's first tutor in hand-to-hand combat and still continued to make sure she kept up with that field of study. Sherlock also noticed that the two had developed a very strong sibling relationship. Enola was the only one of the group who referred to him as Sach while everyone else called him Carleton.

Sherlock found he did not like their closeness; he would not say that he was jealous, just – he just did not like it. He especially did not like the way Enola's face lightened when Carelton was near.

"Even Sach agrees with me." Enola exclaimed. She looked immensely pleased all of a sudden and Sherlock found himself grinding his teeth again as he watched the two exchange a look.

"You two would agree that the sky was red just to annoy people." Sherlock shot back. He had observed the two to learn about their shared mischievous nature.

"No we wouldn't," Carleton protested. "We would say that it was green."

His remarked caused Enola quietly giggle. Sherlock looked at her and saw she was smiling; for some reason it annoyed him. John would have been able to tell him why he felt that way. The thought of John hit him hard in the gut, especially as looked back and forth between Carleton and Enola. Sherlock hated to admit that their relationship reminded him of his with John; the jesting and trust was all too similar.

Again, he was not one to get jealous.

Before the conversation could progress any further the others joined them.

"We need to go before the police begin to look too hard." Wilhelm said and they all disappeared into the gathering crowd.

The following morning Amelia descended the stairs and was not surprise to find that both Carleton and Hatch had fallen asleep in the sitting room and were still out like a light. Tekla had crashed in one of the guest rooms and was probably still asleep. What she was surprised to find was Enola and Sherlock sitting across from each other at the dining table playing chess. In her opinion it was too early to play chess; much better to wait for a more decent hour like one in the afternoon.

"What's bothering you?" Enola asked Sherlock; neither one had yet to notice Amelia. "And don't say that's it's nothing; I can tell when people lie to me."

"I find myself conflicted." Sherlock moved a piece and did not bother looking up from the board.

"Concerning what?" She moved a piece. "Check."

"You," He moved to protect his king. He looked up to Enola who was now gaping at him in surprise.

"Why are you conflicted over me?" She leaned back in her chair waiting for his answer.

"Are you happy here?" He asked. "With the Lehrers?"

"Yes." Enola replied, a smile catching her lips. She gestured to the bodies asleep on the couch. "I guess you could say that this here is my family." She gave him another smile before turning her attention back to the board, contemplating her next move.

"Alright then." Sherlock did not really seem happy with the answer but he did not try to counter it. He shifted his focus back on the game.

"Checkmate." Enola moved her finally piece and stood. "I'll go make coffee."

Enola did not see how sad Sherlock looked when she went to the kitchen. He waited for her to face away from him before he allowed his features to shift on his face. He also did not realize that he was being watched.

Amelia, not wanting to make things awkward, backed up a few steps and then proceeded, very loudly, to trip over Tekla's shoes she had already avoided.

"I'm going to kill whoever left these shoes in the middle of the floor!" She exclaimed tossing the shoes aside.

"Let me know if you need help with the body dump." Enola called from the kitchen.

"Cement shoes would be fitting," Amelia remarked as she sat at the table. Something was up with Sherlock; she and Wilhelm figured that out during the con. But now was not the time to discuss it – now, it was time for coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The job was inspired by this line:
> 
> "I assure you that the most winning woman I ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little children for their insurance money..." – Sherlock Holmes, 'Sign of Four'


	25. Mothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lady Violet Holmes meets Amelia Holmes, Ph.D., Art.D., D.F.A.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set a little over a year, maybe a year and a half after the Fall.
> 
> A huge thanks to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for her help with this. This was a difficult one to write and without her help this would not have come to be.

Society get togethers were rather dull; Violet Holmes had been attending them for years out of a sense of duty and suffer though them with a subtle smile plastered on her face.

The present social gathering was hosted by Lady Theodora, wife of Sir Eustace Alistair, a baronet of little consequence in Violet's opinion. The family had been in the news over the kidnapping and mysterious rescue of their daughter, Lady Cecily, while she was on holiday in Spain the previous year. This gathering was really the first time that the family entertained and a way for them to tell society that they were alright.

Lady Theodora, or Dora as she was more commonly referred to, was considered a beautiful woman with brilliant eyes whose very air gave the sense that she was well informed and intelligent. It was one of the reasons Violet sought to tolerate her; Dora could be a wealth of information when pressed, a skill that could be handy to have in the future. The day was bright and cheerful, the exact opposite of how Violet felt, so Dora decided to have her gathering outside. When Violet arrived Dora was talking to a woman who she had never seen at these gatherings before. Rolling her eyes to herself, Violet prayed that she was not some new money princess who thought she now belonged to a higher social standard.

"Violet!" Dora smiled when she saw her and waved her over. "I want you to meet a friend of mine, Dr. Amelia Lehrer. Amelia this is Lady Violet Holmes."

"Nice to meet you." Amelia smiled broadly sticking out her hand. Violet inwardly cringed at the harsh American accent as she smiled taking her hand. The American was little older than her eldest son but had a youthful and mischievous gleam in her eyes. She had reddish brown hair with a bit of gray that seemed artfully placed around her temples which she elegantly pulled back. Her clothes were fashionable but not designer showing conservative tastes.

"Are you a medical doctor?" Violet asked for the sake of politeness.

"I'm a doctor in art history and I work in conservation and restoration for the American Institute of Museum and Library Services." Amelia explained. "When I'm not preserving art I teach art history and art itself at New York University."

"You seem to be quite a busy woman." Violet remarked.

"Not as busy as my husband." Amelia laughed.

"You were explaining what he was doing before Violet joined us." Dora said.

"Well as you know Dora, Wilhelm has a doctorate in philosophy and teaches at NYU." Amelia grabbed a drink from a passing tray without the server realizing it. Violet was a bit impressed that nothing was spilled. "But before that he worked quite extensively with the FBI as a criminal investigative analysist; which is why we are in London. He's giving a lecture on criminology."

"An odd change; from criminology to philosophy." Violet remarked dryly.

"Not really," Amelia shrugged taking a sip from her drink. "He still profiles people, just in a different context. He's considered an expert in his fields of study."

Amelia practically beamed with pride for her husband and was obviously in love with him. Violet did not know if she should laugh at her or feel pity for her. Love was simply a feeling that could be used and abused very easily.

They sat down to continue on with their polite chatter as refreshments were served. Violet was not quite sure what to make of the American; Amelia was certainly not what she expected an American woman to be. Despite how grating the accent was to Violet, Amelia was not loud or abrasive in her manner. But there was something about her that made Violet feel uneasy, like she was hiding something.

The conversation then turned to a topic that Violet detested most – children.

"No, sorry, I had a son," Amelia clarified for a slightly confused Dora.

"Her son is dead." Violet bluntly stated so Dora could understand. The way Amelia talked about him was confusing; one moment she would refer to him as though he was alive then the next to confirm he was no longer breathing.

"Yes," Amelia was unfazed by Violet's bluntness; she was use to it. Dora, however, looked a bit mortified and was about to apologize to her when Amelia raised her hand to stop her. "As is your youngest son I understand; I read about his death in the papers. I'm very sorry."

"Holmes is not that uncommon of a last name," Violet pointed out. "The man who jumped just might have the same surname as me with no relation."

"If that's true I have this wonderful bridge in Brooklyn I like to sell ya." Amelia said with no humor in her voice. "Especially since in his obituary your name was given as he's mother; plus I study faces – it's not hard to see the family resemblance between you and your son."

"You presume a lot." Violet felt anger rising in her. The manner in which the American spoke to her was flippant and forward. She had no place to speak to her like that.

"Not really," Amelia said dryly almost daring Violet to snap back. "Especially considering I've met your eldest, Mycroft."

That got Violet's attention. She could think of no reason how they could have possibly met.

"Have you really." Violet stated more than asked.

"You sound disappoint." Amelia remarked as she switched out her empty glass for a full one as a server went by, again the server did not notice the switch. "You know, I could probably take one of those trays from their very hands and they wouldn't even notice." She added thoughtfully taking a sip.

"Please don't." Dora laughed.

"Where did you meet Mycroft?" Violet asked. She wanted answers and she was going to get them.

Amelia paused a moment, biting her lower lip in thought. "It was through Wilhelm actually. They met when their work crossed the other's path. Secretive kinda guy."

Violet raised her eyebrows at Amelia's choice of words; they were a bit childish. Amelia was suddenly looking at her oddly as if making a critical observation.

"I'm sure his secretive nature is due to his occupation." Violet remarked lightly wishing Amelia would stop staring at her, it was a bit unnerving.

"You're odd." Amelia declared in such a way as would a person making a final decision.

Dora inwardly groan at her friend's declaration; knowing both of them, she could see that there was nothing she could do to stop the two women from heading into a heated argument. It was strange because no one had ever been able to get a rise out of Violet, she was always so cool and collected. Dora had known Amelia a little less than a year but knew her well enough to trust her to know what she was doing.

"Come again." Violet demanded quietly. She was taken aback, no one had ever spoken so flippantly with her.

"I mention Sherlock, you deny any connection to him," Amelia picked up an apple from the table, from her jacket pocket she withdrew a claspknife opening it with one hand and proceeded to cut into the fruit. "I mention Mycroft, you demand how I know him."

"Your point?" Violet suddenly felt very angry, she was usually in much better control of her emotions than this. But this American evidently had the ability to get under skin and Violet wanted her extracted.

"Just an observation." Amelia shrugged. She continued to cut into the apple into different pieces without eating any of it.

"Why mention it if you weren't going to a conclusion?" Violet caught herself from yelling, that would be undignified. She would not allow some silly American woman to get the better of her.

"Cause now you're thinking about it." Amelia smiled brightly as if she accomplished a grand feat. "I mean, to the casual observer it seems you're playing favorites."

She then began to reassemble the apple pieces together on her plate forming a bird. She handed her little creation to Dora who was not sure if she should laugh at Amelia's apple or be worried about Violet's reaction to Amelia's antics.

"You have my condolences on the loss of your son." Amelia said unexpectedly and with warmth that confused Violet.

"Why? You never met him." Violet stiffly replied, putting up her guard which was thrown off by the appearance of the apple bird.

"I know what it's like to lose a child to tragic circumstance." Amelia remarked as she examined the small treats that were on the plate before her. "Wilhelm and I were absolutely devastated when our son died."

"Probably because your son never caused you trouble as my youngest caused me." Violet remarked. There was a very strong temptation to say something impolite to the American, but she was above that sort of behavior.

"He was nothing but trouble." Amelia said almost laughing. She wiped her claspknife with a napkin before folding it. "I was sick most of the time I carried him; he then came too soon."

"Too soon?" Violet did not quite follow.

"Kilian was born a few months too soon and died a week later." Amelia tentatively put a treat in her mouth and ate it unsure if she like it or not. It had been many years since the birth and death of her son and she had come to terms with it. That is not to say that it still did not hurt, the pain had been dulled by years of healing. "Despite the short time, I love him dearly and visit his grave on his birthday with Wilhelm."

"A bit morbid the way you cling to him when he's dead." Violet remarked taking a sip of her drink.

"Violet!" Dora gaped at her in shock.

"I wouldn't call remembering my son on his birthday clinging or morbid." Amelia supplied, seemly unfazed by Violet's words.

Before any of the women could add anything else to this unusual conversation, Cecily interrupted for which Dora was secretly glad.

"Mum, I was wondering if I could go into town with Elle." Cecily requested. The girl had improved greatly since her ordeal in Spain.

"That all depends on what Dr. Lehrer allows." Dora looked at Amelia for her answer.

Amelia considered the young girl a moment with a serious expression on her face before answering. "Will you be doing mindless girly activities such as window shopping with a great chance of buying something pointless, and, if there's an opportunity, gawking at cute guys who may be about?"

"Maybe," Despite her confusion Cecily smiled. "Most definitely on buying something."

Dora did her best to hide her smirk behind her hand. But Violet looked disapprovingly at Amelia for her words.

"Then you have my blessing!" Amelia declared sounding relieved and made a cross motion with her hand before reaching for her pocket book. "Here is my credit card and tell my overly practical daughter that she has to get something fun. Actually, she needs a dress for the gala we're going to – tell her to get a dress."

"You're actually serious." Violet was now certain that the American was mad.

"As a heart attack. It is amazingly difficult to spoil Elle." Amelia smiled handing Cecily her card. "Something blue or green, she always looks good in those colors."

"Yes Dr. Lehrer," Cecily returned the smile and gave her mother a quick kiss on her temple. "Bye Mum."

"Have fun, dear." Dora called after Cecily as she went off to join Elle who was standing at a distance away.

The women watched as Cecily joined the American's daughter. The girls spoke for a moment before Elle turned to look at Amelia throwing her hands up in the air. Amelia simply waved and had a smirk on her face.

"Something wrong Violet?" Dora asked when she noticed some color drained from Violet's face.

"I'm alright." Violet said as she turned away from the retreating girls. She looked at Amelia who was now chatting with another woman.

The get together lasted a bit too long for Violet's taste. At the conclusion Violet thanked and bid goodbye to Dora for making a hasty exit.

The American's daughter, despite the distance, looked vaguely like an older version of the daughter she had long since forgotten. Violet was caught off guard by the similarity and wished that she had not seen it.

"Lady Violet!" Violet almost jumped at unexpectedly hearing Amelia's voice as she turned around the corner. She looked back and saw the American running up to her.

"What do you want?" Violet demanded when Amelia caught up with her.

"I believe that this is yours." Amelia said causally as she held up a silver rectangular compact that initials 'VH' elegantly engraved on it with an equally elegant boarder. A wedding gift from Siger. It was a gift that one expected to be given at a wedding. It was not a token of his love or even affection to her,yet she still held onto this one out of some misguided sentiment she could not place. "I believe this fell out of your purse."

Violet try to think of how the compact could have fallen out; last she check it was securely placed in a pocket with a zipper. She glared coldly at Amelia as she reached for the object.

"You alright?" Amelia looked over Violet as she replaced the compact in her purse. Her opinion of the woman was not quite set. "See a ghost?"

Having enough of the American woman, Violet marched passed her.

"What happened to your youngest?" Amelia suddenly asked, not letting Violet get far.

"He committed suicide." Violet would have snapped, if it was not beneath her. She kept her back to Amelia hoping she would take it as a hint to stop talking to her. "Nothing else to tell."

"Not your youngest son; that was all over the papers. 'Fraud breaks under pressure, takes own life.'" Amelia quoted one of the many headlines that littered the papers for weeks after Sherlock's death and burial. "Your youngest child; not much in the newspapers about her."

"I don't see how that's any of your concern." Violet finally turned around narrowing her eyes at Amelia.

"Disappeared from the family estate about seven years ago under the nose of your second son without a trace." Amelia continued on, not to be deterred. "About six years ago she is officially declared dead and the police contend themselves to search for a missing dead body than that of a living girl."

Violet felt unable to decipher Amelia's motivations; she wanted to leave and ignore Amelia but she found that she could not. Bound by some unseen force to listen to the American.

"I was at New Scotland Yard the other day with my husband talking with the Commissioner about his seminar." Amelia explained. "It's amazing what people will talk about when they think no one is listening."

"Then you shouldn't listen." Violet said keeping her voice even. She could not believe the gall of this woman poking around in her private affairs.

"I'm sorry for your losses." Amelia said. There was a visible slump in her shoulders resigning to the fact that she would not get any where with Violet.

"They're dead; nothing to be done about that." Violet stated. "Best forget and move on; something you are apparently incapable of doing."

"Ah," It was all Amelia could to such a backhanded statement. "Good day to you then." Amelia took a deep breath to center herself before returning back to help Dora with disassembling the remainders of the party. But stopped before she got too far; there was something she want to express and Amelia doubted she would get another opportunity like this.

"Sorry Wilhelm." Amelia muttered before turning around. "I take it back."

"I beg your pardon." Violet wished that Amelia would just leave, but that now did not seem to be happening any time soon.

"Please don't beg." Amelia remarked as she took a few steps closer until she reclaimed the spot next to Violet's person. "It's, as you would say, undignifiying."

"I don't know who you are," Violet now had enough of Amelia. She would not be spoken to in such a flippant rude manner. "But you – "

"I really did try play nice," Amelia interrupted as she shifted through her purse in search of something. "Try not to let my bias cloud my first impression of meeting you in person; maybe see that everything was just a big misunderstanding. But no – you really are a cold hearted woman."

"How dare –"

"Don't interrupt!" Amelia looked up from her search to glare at Violet. Surprisingly Violet found it difficult to speak. "All of you have this bad habit of interrupting."

Amelia returned to her search and found what she was looking for. "Discovered a few interesting things. You did nothing, according to reports on the case, when your daughter disappeared." Amelia took out a reporter's pad from her pocketbook and flipped the desired page. "It was your eldest son who called the police, not you; it was your youngest son who pestered the police not to stop looking, not you; it was the servants in your employment at the time who organized a small memorial service after she was declared dead, not you."

"Your point and your interest?" Violet found her voice and could not tell if she was bored or frustrated; probably both.

"Most mothers in your position would care about the fate of their missing child." Amelia put up her reporter's pad and looked at Violet with a curious expression on her face. "Didn't you?"

"I find it interesting that you are so intrigued and knowledgeable of the affairs of my family." Violet was bored, she decided, and could not wait for Amelia to get to her point. "Say your piece and let me be."

"Why did you name her 'alone'?" Amelia asked. "A cruel thing to tell a child that she shall always be alone."

"That was what she was." Violet said. There was no need to defend herself to Amelia but for some reason Violet felt that she was doing just that. "Why dwell on her when she is dead?"

"She. Is. Not." Amelia bit out the words, shoving a picture into Violet's hands.

Violet's nature reaction was to look at the picture in her hands. The picture was a young woman smiling and wearing academic robes. With Amelia's last words echoing in her head the recognition clicked in her head.

"Enola." The name felt strange on her tongue after so many years disuse.

"Alive, healthy and happy." Amelia said.

"Then why did you not return her to her family?" Violet demanded on prinicple.

"Because she would have run away again." Amelia said slowly emphasizing each word. She caught a flicker of confusion in Violet's eyes causing her to smirk. "Oh, that thought never occurred to you. Did it?"

A side of Amelia was glad her husband and child were not here to witness her; as with everyone she had a cruel streak, one which that she hide often.

"That is Elle when she received her Masters in Philosophy." Amelia said with a strange mixture of pride in Enola and disgust in Violet. "She is well respected in academic circles."

"You kept my daughter away." Violet accused staring daggers at her. Amelia just cruelly laughed shaking her head.

"I didn't keep her away, she didn't want to come back. And you never bothered to look for her." Amelia stared her down daring for her to deny any of it. "So your air of being righteously wronged is unappreciated. All these years I thought you were simply unable to relate to Elle, but now I see that you are simply an unfit mother let alone an unfit person."

"You think yourself better than me?" Violet hissed. Any control she felt was quickly slipping away from her grasp, but that did not her from trying to grab a few of the fleeting strands.

"No." Amelia said calmly, taking the picture back and tucking it gently into her pocketbook. "I know that I'm better than you. Hands down."

Amelia had to keep herself from laughing when she was the death glare that Violet was giving her. It was very similar to Sherlock's when someone or something got him mad. As with Sherlock Amelia politely smiled; she felt that the polite smile was more than what Violet deserved.

"It's your own damn fault, you know." Amelia remarked as she turned away. "I just wanted you to know Elle is alive and well, no thanks to you."

Without another word Amelia walked away with Violet just standing there is shock and confusion.

By law there was nothing really Violet could do. If there was any action to be done it had to be done by Mycroft who was still her legal guardian. After regaining her composure Violet decided that she would not bother her son with the matter.

She found that it hurt too much.

-MHSHEH-

"I do recall telling you not to do what you just did." Wilhelm remarked taking off his reading glasses.

Wilhelm and Amelia both sat in the sitting room that he had turned into an unofficial office and was now covered with papers varying from his notes of his lecture for the police force to blueprints of an office building that they needed to break into before they left London. Wilhelm had abandoned his notes when Amelia returned with a sad contemplative expression on her face. He wasted no time in asking what was wrong and she wasted no time in explaining.

"I know, I know," Amelia collapsed into a chair across from Wilhelm as she explained to him. "But you weren't there; she was cold through out the entire affair."

"Were you trying to bait her?" Wilhelm asked a bit exasperated. "Why else would you steal her compact?"

"Well being described as morbidly clinging would throw anyone off." She said sarcastically. Wilhelm rubbed his temples; he did not want to fight, he hated fighting with his wife.

"Amelia," Wilhelm gently reprimanded. "You're better than that."

"Says you." Amelia closed her eyes feeling tired.

"Did she recognize Elle?" Wilhelm asked.

"I don't think it clicked for her until I showed her the picture of Elle." Amelia sighed. "She might have been too distracted by my strange American ways."

"Speaking of your strange American ways," Wilhelm glanced at his watch. "Do you know if Elle and Cecily are coming here or back to Dora's after their shopping expedition?"

"Elle texted me and said that they would go back to Dora's." Amelia leaned back in her chair. "I don't think Elle even realized that her mother was there."

"Yes she did," Wilhelm remarked gathering up his papers trying to get the room is some resemblance of order. Amelia looked at her husband confused with a little worry. Wilhelm smiled at her as he stood.

"How do you know?" She asked.

"Elle texted me to inform me that her mother gave her credit card to her with orders to get something, and she wanted to know how much she could spend." Wilhelm said causally giving Amelia a peck on her cheek as he passed by her.

Amelia smiled. Only Wilhelm could make her feel that good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed when ever I have one of the Lehrers go up against a Holmes it turns out to be one of my longer 
> 
> Please review and let me know what you think of the chapter.


	26. Nine O'Clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade meets Ivy Meshle and she brings unexpected evidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purpose of this story I'm making the Great Hiatus about three years, same as the original Holmes short stories. Mostly after this point chronologically the chapters will be completely jossed by the third season of Sherlock.
> 
> This is set about two years after the Fall.

Greg Lestrade breathed in slowly and out again. Glancing at the clock on the wall he saw that it was not yet a quarter to nine and the day already felt long. Most days felt unbearably long.

It had been two years since Sherlock jumped and Lestrade was still under scrutiny by his superiors. For a short while it looked like he would lose his job due to his use of Sherlock on more cases than he originally reported. When he was called into the Commissioner's office he was certain that it was his last day at New Scotland Yard. To his great surprise he was just given a verbal slap on the wrist and a warning to be more careful in the future. He wondered if Mycroft had some part to play in that; a form of a thank you for all the time he had helped Sherlock when Mycroft's hands had been tied; it would not have surprised him. Since then he was given small cases that were easy to handle and quickly solved but were dull and had too much paperwork to fill out.

It was the paperwork that made Lestrade's days too long. There were many days that Lestrade just wanted to throw the paper in the air and be done with it. But he knew he was on thin ice and one wrong move could send him crashing through.

What happened to Sally Donovan was quite the opposite. When the scandal broke, she had managed to get on the good side of the higher-ups and came out smelling like a rose for seeing Sherlock for what he was, a fraud. Since then, anything that had involved Sherlock she was called in to give her opinion fast making her the Yard's expert on the 'Freak Fraud' as some had begun to call him. The only really surprising thing was the Donovan was never given a promotion for her efforts; Lestrade had expected her to get her own team to lead. But she still remained under his command to the wonderment of all around. Again Lestrade wondered if Mycroft might have had a hand in that.

Despite Anderson's intimate involvement in the incident not many things changed for him. Except for the fact that there was not someone call him out on some minor mistakes here or there, or just flat out calling him an idiot. He quite enjoyed that last bit. He went about his duties with a chipper attitude glad that no one, namely the Freak, was going to waltz and instantly ruin his day.

There was not a moment in which Lestrade wished that Sherlock had not jumped. If he had not Lestrade was sure over time Sherlock's name would have been cleared of all charges and things explained. But his death at his own hands firmly placed the seal of falsehood on all he had done and had given people the excuse not to look. It also made it difficult for Lestrade to even try to look for evidence clearing Sherlock's name. Also for the fact that he was directly ordered not to look.

He was surprise when he got a call from an Ivy Meshle, assistant to Leslie Ragostin, a private detective operating out of London, concerning Moriarty. Lestrade, even though he was very curious, try to direct the woman to Donovan as was the protocol for anything concerning Sherlock. But she explained that her employer would only allow the information to go to Lestrade and arrangements had been made.

The arrangements turned out to be that Donovan would be allowed at the interview with the understanding that the information was being given to Lestrade to do with as he wished. Lestrade half wondered how Ragostin arranged that with the Commissioner and the Chief.

Lestrade took another sip of coffee as he looked at the clock again – five til nine.

"Are you trying to get into trouble?" Donovan demanded as she burst into his office. Lestrade almost split his coffee.

"Easy!" He cried, thankful that the hot beverage landed only on his desk and not on his lap. "What are you going on about?"

"You know everything concerning the Freak comes to me." Donovan said with great authority as she closed the door behind her with a bit of a thud. She had felt no need to show Lestrade any respect since the Freak incident; she also knew she was not the only one to feel that way, some had even gone so far as to wonder had Lestrade been in cahoots with Sherlock all along. "Why are you going behind my back with this Ragostin?"

Lestrade had not even finished his first cup of bad coffee and he was already regretting getting out of bed. He considered his answer as he returned Donovan's glare as she stood in front of his desk waiting for an answer.

"He's not," A soft voice spoke from the door. The detectives turned to see a young blond woman with glasses perched on her nose holding a banker's box looking slightly nervous. "Dr. Ragostin called your Chief to make sure that you were to be at this meeting. Weren't you informed?"

"And you are?" Donovan asked with a patronizing tone.

"Ivy Meshle," She said making a move to offer her hand to shake only to realize at the last moment she was holding on to something heavy. She did not quite drop it, but it was close. "I'm Dr. Ragostin's assistant. He apologizes, Detective Inspector, for not being here but he was called away quite suddenly to Alaska for urgent business."

"Alaska?" Donovan was not expecting such a random place to go to for business.

"Alaska," Ivy repeated. "Shall we get started, or am I early?" She look to Lestrade; he could not help but feel a little sorry for the girl being under the overbearing glare of Donovan.

"You're right on time; please sit down Ms Meshle." He motioned to the seat in front of his desk. Donovan returned her glare to Lestrade who only looked pointedly at her. As far as he was concern he was in charged of this meeting and she was only there as a curtsey.

She sighed her disapproval be fore stepping out of Ivy's way. They both knew that their conversation was not over and that they would pick up right they had left off as soon as Ivy left.

"As I understand from out phone conversation Dr. Ragostin has information concerning Richard Brook," Lestrade said to get things rolling.

"No," Ivy said almost dropping her box as she was putting it down next to the seat. "Well, I mean – that is to say that Dr. Ragostin as information on James Moriarty, also known as Richard Brook."

"What's the difference?" Donovan was getting really tired these fans that had suddenly appeared after the Freak's death. All claimed his innocence and expressed it in fliers and graffiti all over the city; they, however, had little proof to support their claim.

"Moriarty is a person and Brook is a persona." Ivy said as she pushed up her glasses on her nose. She removed the lid from the box and pulled out several files. "Dr. Ragostin actually met Moriarty years ago when he was doing a case in Spain. That was before he hired me."

"When was that?" Lestrade asked eyeing the files in her hand.

"When he hired me or when he met Moriarty?" She asked stacking the files on Lestrade's desk.

"Both."

"I became Dr. Ragostin's assistant about four years ago," She said after counting on her fingers. "I believe he met Moriarty about two and a half, maybe three years before that."

"The Freak was already consulting at that point." Donovan muttered not so subtlety under her breath as she stared down Lestrade hoping he would pick up on her point. The Freak could have been working on the Moriarty story for years before they picked up on the lie. Lestrade did indeed pick up on her point and stared at her to keep her mouth shut; not that she would.

"I'm sorry, who?" Ivy asked looking back and forth between the two.

"Please continue," Lestrade smiled at Ivy. For a moment he could have sworn that there was a flash in Ivy's eyes at Donovan's words. Maybe it was anger, maybe it was annoyance, but it happened so quickly that he might have been mistaken.

"Right, um," She open the top file. "Over the years since that meeting Dr. Ragostin began collecting as much information as he could; I took over that research when I was hired so he could focus on other things."

"Is this your research?" Lestrade motioned to the files and box.

"This is about a fourth of the collective research between myself and Dr. Ragostin." Ivy said looking at the box. She then pulled out a thick interoffice envelope and fiddled with the sting that held it close. "Mostly Moriarty's activities outside of Britain."

Ivy opened the envelope and pulled out pictures that were taken by a long-distance lense camera. They were taken at various locations and times of day of illicit looking meetings and shady affairs; they all contained a shot of a younger Moriarty. He was smiling, shaking hands, threatening, every position and expression was represented in the pictures that Ivy was putting on Lestrade's desk.

"Here is also some confessions of captured criminals who dealt with Moriarty that give explicit details of Moriarty's involvement in various crimes." Ivy pointed the the files. "I have a copy of the originals and translated transcribed copies."

The evidence was damning to say the least. Lestrade glanced through Ragostin's reports and the confessions; everything pointed to Moriarty being real.

"If this is all true why didn't you or Ragostin come forward with this before?" Donovan demanded as she went through the pictures. She was in a bit of a shock; she firmly believed that Moriarty was an invention of the Freaks mind for want of glory. But the verified copies of the confessions dealing with Moriarty predated the Freak's involvement with Scotland Yard.

"We were out of the country at the time of Sherlock Holmes' apparent suicide," Ivy explained shrinking away from Donovan slightly. "I found Kitty Riley article only about eight months ago. It took us this long to get everything together."

"Eight months?" Donovan looked at her credulously.

"Have you ever tried to get paperwork from the police in Moscow?" Ivy asked leaning as far away from Donovan as her chair would allow her. "Plus, I really don't read investigative news reports."

"Donovan, ease up on the girl." Lestrade said when seeing Ivy's discomfort at Donovan brusque manner. "Thank you for bringing this to our attention."

"Dr. Ragostin had all this information and he didn't know who to trust with it," Ivy said still looking cautiously at Donovan.

"That's not an excuse." Donovan shot back taking a step forward.

"Donovan! I said ease up on the girl!" Lestrade also stood just in case. He could see that Donovan was mad; most detectives would be upon learning that vital evidence was kept from them. He should have felt upset as well, but he was too elated to finally have actual physical evidence that lead to clearing Sherlock's name with regards to the Ambassador's children which would then lead to proving his legitimacy.

"Who does Ragostin think he is to decide what the police will or will not have?!" Donovan demanded practically looming over the girl. "We can arrest him and you for obstruction of justice."

"Donovan!" Lestrade snapped. Donovan glared at him. "Stop interrogating her. If you're going to get mad at someone be mad at Ragostin, not his assistant!"

"We could have used this information, if it's real, years ago when the case was fresh!" Donovan said. She was not quite yelling, she was gritting her teeth to keep from doing so. "Why did he keep this from us?"

"B-becuase you're bias." Ivy sputtered out when she found her voice.

"Excuse me?" Donovan asked when she returned her attention to Ivy. She crossed her arms and waited for Ivy to answer. Ivy looked between her and Lestrade. She swallowed before she sat a little straighter, bracing herself for whatever would happen next.

"Dr. Ragostin knew that a majority of Scotland Yard were negatively bias towards Sherlock Holmes, for one reason or another." Ivy explained keeping her eyes on Lestrade's desk. Looking at Donovan was the last thing Ivy wanted to do. "If he or I had presented this evidence at that time everyone would have dismissed it as fabricated, and no one would have ever given it a second glance."

"Why come to me?" Lestrade asked, sitting back down eying Donovan to do the same with the chair near the door. He looked kindly at Ivy hoping to put her at ease.

"Dr. Ragostin says you're an honest man," Ivy looked up to Lestrade giving him a small unsure smile. "An honest man who sees the facts before his bias. You're one of the few Detective Inspectors who wouldn't simple toss this aside."

"I will make sure that this is brought to light." He promised.

Donovan sat fuming; she was definitely mad. Mad for being duped, not only once but twice if what Ivy was saying was true. Ivy was nothing like the crazed fan that were going around London with fliers and graffiti declaring that they believed in Sherlock Holmes. She seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, abet very nervous and shy. There was no reason for the girl to concoct false evidence, especially to the extent that was presented on Lestrade's desk.

The more she listen to Ivy present the evidence collected by her employer to Lestrade the more she thought over the evidence at the time. While she was not ready to admit that she was completely wrong about the Freak, she was becoming willing to admit that she might have been led by her prejudice against him in this case. The confirmation that she had been right since the get-go about the Freak was just to tempting to pass up.

Suddenly Ivy's phone rang.

"Excuse me, I have to take this," She said apologetically before stepping out of the office.

When the office door closed Lestrade looked cautiously over to Donovan who as thinking over everything that Ivy had said and explained.

"You did what you thought was right," He said snapping Donovan from her thoughts. "Doing your job."

"I don't need you assure me." Donovan said without anger or resentment.

"I know," Lestrade looked back to the file he had in hand. "I just wanted you to know that I don't hold it against you."

That surprised Donovan. She had assumed that Lestrade had hated her since the Freak offed himself.

Before Donovan could remark, Ivy returned with a contrite expression.

"I'm very sorry but I have to ask to end the meeting a bit early." Ivy motioned to her phone. "That was Dr. Ragostin and he needs me in Alaska as soon as possible."

"I understand," Lestrade stood and walked to Ivy offering his hand. "Thank you."

"Thank you for listening." She smiled as she shook his hand. "Dr. Ragostin sends his regards and we will send the rest of what we have over to you."

-MHSHEH-

"Your nine o'clock is here sir." Anetha said as soon as Mycroft returned. He looked at her questionably with a hint of confusion.

"My nine o'clock," He repeated as he closed the door behind him.

"Yes sir." She held out a small stack of files for him; an assortment of reports from the field and new legislation for him to look over.

Without another word Mycroft went to his office and opened the door. Seeing who was waiting for him he sighed.

"I should have known." He remarked as he made his way to his desk.

"You're getting a bit sloppy." Enola remarked with a Cheshire grin that Mycroft was growing familiar with.

"I learned a while ago that it would be futile to try to stop you from hacking into whatever system you set your mind to." Mycroft sat down and tossed the files to one side; he could look at those later.

"You're still sore that I bypassed all your security to get access to the London CCTV cameras." She playfully accused.

Enola had developed this habit of suddenly popping in to visit Mycroft; it began shortly after he received her letter. With every visit they talked, a lot. It was through these talks that Mycroft was able to see the influences of the Lehrers on his sister. Enola, like Wilhelm, was very knowledgeable in a variety of subjects with well developed opinions in each field. She also developed quite the eye for art under the guidance of Amelia. Mycroft remembered the very simple sketches that Enola did as a child, she often resorted to sketching when she was trying to figure something out. Like both Lehrers, Enola had become a bit of a scholar achieving the title 'Doctor' not just in one field but in several. Amelia once remarked that it was difficult to find tutors who could keep up with Enola's seemingly unquenchable thirst for knowledge.

"My tech department is still trying to find the backdoor you used to achieve that." Mycroft said as he leaned back in his chair.

"Six months and they still haven't found anything?" Enola look mildly surprised and little pleased with herself.

"Do try not to look so smug about it." He requested. Setting aside her criminal activities, Mycroft was actually quite proud in his sister's accomplishments. She had fallen into the academic's practice of publishing articles in their perspective fields and Mycroft took great pleasure in reading her work.

"Well, I'm not here to gloat over that; I'm just here to let you know that everything with the police went smoothly." She leaned forward a bit. "Beneath that cool exterior, Lestrade was as giddy as a school boy."

"Good," Mycroft remarked.

During one of Enola's visits she had discovered Mycorft's work on clearing Sherlock's name. She insisted on helping him, stating that she already had plenty of evidence of Moriarty's work. Plus there were places she could get to, whispers and rumours, where she could get more information and Mycroft would not be connected with it. No one could accuse him of being a desperate brother trying to clear Sherlock's name, instead the information would be looked on with a bit more objectivity.

"Most of what I used was before Sherlock consulted with the police and in countries that Sherlock hasn't visited." Enola continued. "I also took under consideration of the ones he has gone to under the guise of Vilhelm Sigerson."

"Very through."

"I try to be."

"You have succeeded." Mycroft took the file from the top of the pile and glanced at the first page. "What will you do if they try to contact this fictitious Dr. Leslie Ragostin to ask questions?"

"Dr. Ragostin is a bit of an extrinsic; all his calls goes through, his assistant, Ivy." Enola shrugged. "If push comes to shove I know someone who could play opposite me."

"I am concern that your alias will be exposed," Mycroft looked up from the file. "Thus causing the information you gave them to become questionable."

"Will you please stop worrying about that!" Enola exclaimed. "We've talked about this; My cover will not be blown and the detectives will not be able to connect Ivy Meshle to my person. Everything will be alright."

"I just – "

"Worry constantly," Enola finished for him causing him to smile a little. "I wouldn't expect anything less of you, brother mine."


	27. Hidden Meanings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flowers are for more than just romantic overtones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off allow me to apologize for such a long time since the last chapter and I hope this will make up for it.
> 
> Much thanks goes to 'a wolf is perfect paradox' for all her help!
> 
> This is set when Enola has been with the Lehrers for a few years and the last bit is set later.

First off allow me to apologize for such a long time since the last chapter and I hope this will make up for it.

Much thanks goes to 'a wolf is perfect paradox' for all her help!

This is set when Enola has been with the Lehrers for a few years and the last bit is set later.

Enola was pleased. Having just finished a job quite successfully, she was looking forward to just relaxing.

Since she had just earned her doctorate in philosophy both Wilhelm and Amelia encouraged her to write a series of articles expanding on her doctoral thesis for an academic quarterly magazine. It was one of those 'why not' moments in her life and she found that she quite enjoyed it. In a strange way, it was both therapeutic while giving her a sense of achievement.

There were several rooms reserved for students working on doctoral research on campus and Wilhelm was able to get Enola space in one room with three other graduate students. He thought it would be good for her to at least get some normal college experience under her belt. Two of the three were literature students and the third, history; they all got along rather well, and kept mostly to their work; they got along quite well, keeping mostly to their work, though they did enjoy the odd coffee morning and debating session together which many times ended with laughter. Coming from different backgrounds and different understandings gave many interesting and different perspectives which Enola could not help but enjoy.

Currently Enola was trying to focus on her writing as the two literature students were debating the effects of the secondary characters in 'Crime and Punishment' when a knock was heard.

"Elle Lehrer?" A teenage boy with a baseball cap stuck his head in the room. Enola looked up from her notes.

"Yes?" She was a bit surprised. She recognized the boy as the delivery boy from a florist near the campus, working to save money for school. She saw most often around February and Graduation. "Can I help you?"

"I have a delivery for you." He announced opening the door wider showing the bouquet of flowers.

"Secret admirer, Elle?" The history student asked with a smirk. Enola only gave him a half-serious glare as she walked to sign for the flowers and tip the boy.

The bouquet contained mostly white and pink flowers with hints of purple here and there. What immediately caught Enola's attention was the braided rye grass that bounded the flowers together.

"This will certainly brighten the room." She remarked brightly walking back to her desk.

Later when the rest of the students had gone for the day, Enola was still there. She now had her laptop and was surrounded by her old job notes. She found the flower choices for the bouquet were odd – some were from flowering trees and others from the desert, a combination that a professional florist would not likely do.

"That's a nice bouquet." Enola looked up to the speaker and groaned.

"I am so sorry Russell." Enola lightly banged her head against the desk. "I got caught up – "

"In another puzzle judging from the state of your desk." Mary Russell was a client of the Lehrers and one of Enola's earliest jobs. Losing her family, both her parents and younger brother, to tragedy, she was sent from San Francisco, California to Sussex, England to be in the care of a distant maternal aunt. Her father was rich and had left his daughter quite a bit that was put into a trust until she came of age. Russell knew that her aunt, who was the trustee, was stealing from the fund but she had little proof and none of the police would take her seriously. Following whispers of rumors she found the Lehrers and asked for their help.

Russell's aunt is currently serving time for violation of the terms of the trust. It was an impressive bit of work on the Lehrers' part.

With control of her money, Russell quickly left Sussex and moved to New York City where the Lehrers kept a friendly eye on her. An act that Russell was grateful for. After she had moved she and Enola became rather close sharing an interest in academia and a want to visit Jerusalem. Often when they both worked late, they would head to a small restaurant known only to the locals not far from campus for some food. There, they would enjoy long talks about a variety of subjects. Currently, Russell was trying to convince Elle to plan a trip to Jerusalem with her with the support of Amelia and Wilhelm.

Russell insisted on being called by her surname instead of her christened name. It was not because she disliked 'Mary', she was quite found of it, it was because when she moved to Sussex there seemed to be a plethora of 'Mary's running about that she did not to get lost in the crowd. The nickname stuck.

"Is it a good puzzle at least?" Russell smiled closing the door behind her. "I would hate to have our dinner plans usurped by a dull puzzle."

"It's an interesting one." Enola lifted her head before stretching out her arms. She was a little stiff from leaning over her notes.

"Next thing I know you'll tell me there's a hidden code." Russell sat down next to Enola and took the notebook she was writing in. "Allow me to eat my words, you are working on a code."

"I've already figured out the code." Enola remarked with a tired voice grabbing her notebook back. "Right now I'm trying to figure out who would have sent the flowers." She motioned to the bouquet and Russell looked at it carefully.

"Please explain for those who don't speak flower very well." Russell leaned back in her chair. "I only know that a rose is used to mean love."

"Glad you figured out that code." Enola smirked putting down her pen and pulled the vase closer. "Essentially this collection of flowers is saying that my work with my last job was ingenious and made the sender both fascinated and have great expectations."

"What was your last job?" Russell picked up a few scrapes of paper and balled them so she could juggle as she listened.

"I just went to Maurice 's house." Enola remarked with a shrug. Russell stopped juggling and thought over what her friend just said.

"Isn't that the museum were they keep that painting 'Girl with a pearl earring'?" Russell asked. "Your suddenly interest in Dutch Masters makes so much sense now. You didn't steal the entire – "

"Any way," Enola interrupted. "The tamarisk represents crime; the mock orange, counterfeit; acanthus, the arts as well as these clemates which also represent mental beauty. The white dianthus represent ingenious or talent; circaea, fascination and the zephyr flower, expectation. All of these are bounded together by this rye grass."

"Does that have a meaning as well?" Russell had resumed her juggling as Enola was explaining.

"Changeable disposition." Enola pushed the vase away. "Maybe they are impressed now, maybe they won't be later, maybe I'll disappoint, maybe they'll hug me one moment then shoot me the next …it could be anything."

"And you've spent all this time trying to figure out who sent it to you." Russell remarked catching all the paper balls.

"Whoever sent this had to know that I'm knowledgeable of the language of flowers." Enola leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "And know that I would pick up on the message."

"The creepy factor just clicked in for me." Russell threw the paper balls in the trash before turning to Enola. "Have you told Wilhelm or Amelia about this?"

"Not yet," Enola confessed as she kept staring at the flowers.

"Why not?" Russell demanded.

"I just got it today," Enola defended herself to her friend. "Plus Wilhelm and Amelia have been in meetings all day."

"Fair point." Russell stood and grabbed her pocketbook. "Come on, the night is young and you owe me a story of this last job of your's."

"I found us a new place to try." Elle stood, pleased Russell was willing to let the situation rest. "A remarkable Italian a few blocks away."

"Go on then, how did you find this place?" Russell rolled her eyes with good humor as Elle grabbed her coat.

Fixing her scarf in place, Elle smiled back "Well, I looked at their bay leaves."

-MHSHEH-

Wilhelm looked at the pictures that Enola had taken of the bouquet and her notes of the meanings. He sat at his desk resting his head in his hand and his spectacles threatened to slip off his nose.

He did not like what he was looking at.

"You have that face." Amelia remarked as she entered the study. They were both rather tired from the seemingly endless meeting with their respected heads of department.

"Which face is that?" He asked lifting his head to look at Amelia. He took off his spectacles and tossed him on top of the notes.

"Worry," She walked to stand behind him and began to rub the stress out of his shoulders. "I've never like that look."

"Rye grass, as Elle notes, represents changeable disposition." Wilhelm spoke solemnly. "I've only meet one man who described himself as such, and with vigor."

Amelia moved her arms around Wilhelm and rested her head next to his. "That wouldn't be that man who offered you a position on his crew about five years ago? Moriarty wasn't it? There's something not right with him."

"He certainly had an unsettling charisma about him." Wilhelm agreed. "The term he used was 'organization'; one small crew did not fit his ambition. Now he seems interested in Elle."

"What are we going to do about it?" Amelia asked. She was worried as well; anyone who could scary her husband was not to be taken lightly.

"Right now, we warn Elle about Moriarty." Wilhelm took Amelia's hand and kissed the back of it. "That's all we can really do. Unless he directly threatens her, we really can't do anything."

"The curse of our double life." Amelia laughed mirthlessly. She released her hold on Wilhelm as he stood from his desk. "Do you think he will try to contact her again?"

"Elle's very good at what she does." Wilhelm said. "We knew that people would take attention; much like when we came on the scene."

"We'll just have to be a bit more careful." Amelia nodded.

They smiled at each other before going off to find Enola, who was probably practicing picking locks with Russell.

-MHSHEH-

"You always send such lovely flowers," Enola said holding up an iris with maidenhair ferns held together by braided rye grass to the person approaching her from behind the park bench. "Do you send flowers to all the thieves who impress you, Mr. Moriarty?"

"Not all of them are as pretty as you." Moriarty smirked as he came closer to the seated girl. Enola turned around and gave him a very polite smile.

"So you have a message for me to be given with discretion." Enola remarked as she stood. It had been years since that first bouquet and it certainly wasn't the last. They never came on a regular schedule, but always after a job and always said 'good job'. "How are you liking New York?"

"Noisy." Moriarty shrugged.

"It's called the Sleepless City for a reason." Enola gave a light laugh. Unlike the other floral arrangements Moriarty wanted to talk with her and it came with a card with longitude and latitude coordinates. Both she and Wilhelm were surprised to find the bouquet in his office. He was against Enola going, but she insisted. She wanted to find something out. "What message do you have for me, sir?"

"Always so formal," He took a few steps closer. He wore a smile that held little warmth: it took all the Lehrers had taught her for Enola to suppress the shudder that threatened to run down her spine. "Everyone calls me 'Jim'."

"As you know, I'm not like everyone else." She pointed out. As always with Moriarty she kept her guard up. The man before her was one of the few that unsettled Wilhelm. While Wilhelm had never worked with Moriarty, he had enough of a glimpse of the man's work to know to stay away. Strangely, Moriarty had an unusual respect for Wilhelm and never interfered with his work. "What did you want to tell me?"

"A warning my dear," Moriarty now stood in front of her, close enough for Enola to feel his breath. "Stay away from the Holmes boys."

Her mind flickered back to that meeting when she was in the same room as both her brothers for the first time in years. The meeting where Mycroft hired her to help hide Sherlock from the very man she was talking to at the moment.

If Enola was anyone else, she would have froze in shock and stared at Moriarty.

If she was anyone else, she would have demanded to know what he meant.

If she was anyone else, she would have feigned ignorance.

If she was anyone else, she would have questioned his sources.

But Enola was not anyone else – she smiled.

"So you came all the way to New York City and send a flower message to my father's office at the university. Concern with my well-being?" Enola said looking intently at Moriarty with a smile. She took a few steps back and began walking down the path. "I thought you were upset with me for not taking you up on your offer to join your organization."

"I am," Moriarty remarked humorlessly as he walked behind her. "And the offer is still on the table."

"I guess I should be flattered." Enola said lightly.

"You should." He suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. "I don't like repeating myself."

"But one should remember that there's only one spider in the middle of a web." Enola said turning to face Moriarty. "Let's keep this professional and stay out of each other's way."

"And the Holmes boys?" He asked staring intently at Enola. His grip tighten on her arm.

"Well if you want all the fun for yourself; I'm sure there's another person I can manipulate for fun." Enola said sighing hoping to hide her grimace; Moriarty's grip was getting uncomfortable. "Most ungentlemanly of you to take away my fun."

"I'll find a way to make it up to you." Moriarty's grim expression was replaced by his eerie smirk as he released her arm.

"How 'bout starting with your underlings?" She asked as he began to walk away. He paused in his step and turned back to her. "It's rather annoying to have my heist interrupted by amateur shots; especially the ones aimed at my head."

Moriarty laughed bearing all his teeth. "Maybe they can convince you where I can not."

"Will that be all Mr. Moriarty?" Enola asked with a smile adding her own mirthless laugh.

"For now, Miss Lehrer." Moriarty gave a little wave over his shoulder as the left.

Enola watched as Moriarty walked further and further away until it became difficult to see him in the distance. She never like dealing with Moriarty on anything. She still remembered the expression on Wilhelm's face as he described Moriarty to her; granted, it was a simple profile that Wilhelm had complied after a few brief meetings, but it was quite through.

Despite that and perhaps more than she cared to admit, Enola found that she enjoyed receiving flowers. Hatch and Carleton gave her flowers for her birthday and once in a while Wilhelm would give her a rose. But Moriarty held the distinction of being the first man to give her flowers. They were quite lovely even with the hidden messages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enola, in the books, is very knowledgeable of the language of flowers, which was very popular during the Victorian era.
> 
> How was Moriarty? Would you want to see more of Mary Russell? Please review and let me know what you think.


	28. A Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone is flirting with Enola, and Sherlock really does not like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set a little after 'Difficult Job'.
> 
> Thank you to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for all her help with this story. This chapter is dedicated to her!

The lounge seemed to belong to another time where smoking had no stigma, men in suits were commonplace, and women had perfectly coiffed hair. The music fit the atmosphere, soft and easy filling the air and just enough light so it was not to overly intimate. He went there to unwind, celebrate, have a good time. He smiled as he spotted a pretty young lady sitting alone at the bar and decided to take a chance.

"You are far too lovely to be sitting here by yourself." The man said smoothly as he sat next to her. "Your boyfriend should be more careful than that."

"I have no boyfriend." She put on her best smile, tilted her head slightly downward and slowly blinked.

"How fortunate for both of us." The man plastered on his most charming smile. "Buy you a drink?"

Across the room the couple at the bar had an impromptu audience.

"What is he doing?" Sherlock demanded as he glared at the man next to Enola.

"It's called flirting." Tekla said nonchalantly as she took a sip from her drink as she sat next to Sherlock.

"Maybe if you shut up once in a while I could teach you the basic art of flirting." Carleton remarked over the radio comm to Sherlock. Carleton and Hatch were sitting at the end of the bar keeping an eye on the mark as he talked with Enola.

"Elle, just smile let him do all the talking." Tekla suggested as she watched the action unfold at the bar.

To everyone's surprise the mark did not go for Tekla who was playing the femme fatale woman that the mark tended to like, instead he went directly to Enola who was working in the background picking the pockets of the bodyguards. With that unexpected twist of events Tekla went from grifter to teacher feeding Enola tips via the comm.

"Give a little laugh, sweetie; relax your shoulders, you look too tense." Tekla continued. "Just relax."

"The same goes for you Will." Wilhelm ordered. "Tekla make sure he doesn't interfere."

He and Amelia were on the other side of the lounge sitting in a darken section with drinks in hand observing the others making sure nothing went to awry in the con. Neither of them could help but notice the change in Sherlock's demeanor since the man had settled next to Elle.

"Will's not gonna do anything stupid." Tekla said giving a pointed look to the man next to her. "Right?"

Sherlock did not respond; he continued to stare at the mark as if he wanted to bore holes into the man's back with his eyes. He could recognize the very subtle hints of uneasiness in Enola; he doubted if anyone else in this crew could, to them she was calm and collected.

"Pull her out." Sherlock demanded suddenly, surprising everyone. Wilhelm sighed and looked to his wife who only shrugged her shoulders, they were expected that from Sherlock as soon as the mark sat next to Enola. Neither of them liked the idea of the mark being attached to Elle either; but they both knew that she could handle it and that the con depended upon it.

"She can handle herself." Carleton jumped in before Wilhelm could say anything.

"She's doing fine." Tekla added. Tekla instructed Elle to curl her hair with her fingers and lean into the man, only adding to Sherlock's disgust.

"Tekla, dance with Will." Amelia ordered. "Elle keep going."

Tekla did not need to be told twice. She grabbed Sherlock's hand and half dragged half pulled her reluctant dance partner to the floor.

"I don't know how to dance." Sherlock said looking back at Enola. He would not be distracted; he needed to be ready to step in and get his sister since it seemed the rest of the crew were too focused on the con to worry about her safety.

Deep inside, he knew this not to be true; he had seen Enola grift often enough to know that her skills were not lacking, but he could not help but feel yet another surge of protectiveness towards her. A part of his mind wondered if this is what Mycroft felt towards him, if this is why he always felt the need to butt into Sherlock's life.

He quickly pushed that away. This was different; he was not Mycroft. And this was his sister.

"I do," Tekla smiled as she grabbed his left hand and placed his right at her waist. She pulled him into a dance, smirking. "Follow my lead."

"Ten bucks says he trips over his feet." Carleton said to Hatch who smirked.

"You're on."

"I can hear you two." Sherlock remarked exasperated.

"At least they're not betting on how fast you insult someone like last time." Amelia pointed out.

"Or on how soon someone would punch you in the face before that." Tekla said as she made Sherlock spin her.

"Don't forget the one to see how long he could carry on a conversation with a skull." Hatch added.

"Or whether or not he would resort to fisticuffs when he and Hatch ran into the mobster." Amelia laughed at the memory.

"I tried so hard to teach him." Carleton shook his head and sighed.

"You are all impossible." Sherlock muttered as he almost tripped when he brought Tekla back up from a dip.

"Now when you say trip . . . " Hatch began leaning in towards his friend.

"Flat on his face." Carleton grinned.

"Nice." Hatch and Carleton proceeded to fist pump sealing the bet.

Sherlock thought it best to ignore the antics of the two men at the bar and focused his attention on Enola. She was still at the bar with the mark; who was now leaning towards her whispering something in her ear. The mark was too close to her for Sherlock's liking. Then he noticed something.

"Why is my comm off?" He asked Tekla who gave him an innocent look that did not fool him.

"You really don't want to hear what the mark is telling Elle." She explained. Sherlock glared at her. "Look, if Elle can handle herself with Moriarty, she can certainly handle herself dealing with one of his minions."

As the turned on the dance floor, Sherlock caught sight of the mark slinking his arm around Enola's waist. His shock at the sight caused him to misstep and fall to his knees. He did not need his earpiece on to know that both Hatch and Carleton were snickering at his expense.

"You know Will, if I didn't know any better," Tekla remarked lightly as she helped him back on his feet. "I would say you're acting like a jealous boyfriend or an overly protective big brother. Either way it's adorable. Even with you scowling at me like that."

Sherlock said nothing as he regarded Tekla with a nonplussed expression. As if on cue they both walked off the dance floor and back to their table. It was then that Wilhelm made his move.

"Mr. Wilson Kemp," Wilhelm smiled as he walked up to the bar. holding out his nand "Luke Melas, I understand we can help each other with a little problem."

During Wilhelm's talk with the mark Enola slipped away and left the lounge. She was soon followed by Sherlock.

"You looked like you wanted to kill him." Enola remarked when Sherlock found her outside in an alleyway near the lounge's entrance. She was leaning against a wall under a light holding her jacket tightly around her. Despite her calm expression and confident stance, he could tell she was still uncomfortable with what had gone down by the way she gripped her jacket to her chest.

"It was the least he deserved for the way he was treating you." Sherlock remarked as he stood beside her.

"I was ill prepared." Enola said. "I'm not use to men taking interest in me. Both Tekla and Arsène have taught me about flirting; I can see it with other people, but when in happens to me . . . I don't understand why a man would bother. There are much better prospects than me."

"Elle -"

"A key aspect of a grift is the ability to change from one character to another at a moment's notice." Enola continued on. "A skill I'm still working on. Maybe one day I'll be just as good as Tekla, but not today."

She looked at him thoughtfully before taking out her radio comm. With a half smirk, she stood up, shaking off her jacket and releasing the tension. She had been caught off guard by the mark's attention and had to quickly recover from the shock. There was a small sense of pride swelling in her chest; three years ago she would been frozen at the spot unable to string two words together. It was improvement, but Enola knew she still had along way to go. 

"There's a Chinese place about two blocks over that's open to about one in the morning." She said motioning in the general direction. "I know for a fact you haven't eaten in the past two days. I think Amelia is planning on jumping you with food and force feeding you."

"Mustn't have that." Sherlock smirked.

"No, we mustn't." Enola laughed. "They won't need us for the rest of the evening, so – you, me, food?"

"If you insist."

"Of course I do." She linked her arms in his and they took off down the street. "I found out that you can tell a good Chinese place by the lower third of the door handle."

Sherlock could not help but smile at her remark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review and let me know what you think!


	29. Shot in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siblings fight all the time, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for her help. You are a life saver!
> 
> This is set about a year and a half after the Fall. Enjoy!

It was a shame really. She was a quite a pretty little thing.

The sniper steadied his breath waiting for the right moment watching his target through the scope. The target was walking with a tall man and they seemed to be in the midst of an heated debate. The sniper could not help but smile at the thought of the man forever regretting the next few things he said to her being the last he would ever utter to her. People always did remember that, burned into their minds especially when the words were in any way harsh.

The pair continued on their way unaware of the danger. They were approaching the point where there was a clear shot for the sniper and he readied himself. You can imagine his surprise when he felt another presence in the room.

"Pull that trigger and a bullet in your brain is the last of your concerns." The woman said smoothly.

It would have been such a lovely shot the sniper mused as he lifted his hands over his head. He did so hate to see a perfect shot go to waste.

"Smart boy, now back away from the rifle." The woman ordered. "Slowly."

He did as he was told. Out of the corner of his eye he got a visual proof of her gun. It would have been foolish of her to go against him without one. He was, however, surprised by the woman's age; much older than he would have thought.

"Can I at least have your name?" The sniper asked smoothly looking for the opportunity to gain the upper hand. A confident man like he was, he was used to having his way with the ladies. This should be no different.

"No," She said bluntly. "Don't even try to find an advantage against me; I'm told by my kinsfolk I'm a crack shot."

But of course good advice in these situations are rarely ever taken to heart. The sniper made a grab for the woman's gun and for his troubles ended up with a few cracked rives and a bloodied nose.

"Told ya." The woman said between breaths holstering her gun and shaking her head. She roughly folded the sniper's arms behind his back and securing them in place with zip-ties that she always kept on hand and doing the same with his ankles. "When you next talk to the person who hired you, do tell them that it's best that they don't try again."

Satisfied that the sniper would not get loose, she left him in a position that only aggravated his newly acquired injuries. She found his phone in his pocket and dialed the nearest police station only to hang up when answered. It was enough to ping the nearest cell tower, she knew that the police were keeping a watch on that particular number.

"Is that everything?" She wondered aloud as she glanced around room.

"Who are you?" The sniper demanded trying to free his arms with minimal pain and failing miserably.

"Ah, yes," The woman smiled as she found a roll of duct tape in the sniper's duffel bag. She happily stuck a length of tape over the sniper's mouth. "Yes it will hurt when the cops rip it off. They should be here between ten, fifteen minutes depending on traffic."

She gave him a hard smack on the cheek and left. Outside the room she took off the latex gloves and inspected her clothes to make sure there were not any blaring specks of blood. Satisfied with her appearance she took the stairs down.

-MHSHEH-

"You are incorrigible!" Enola declared with frustration.

"You are far too emotional." Sherlock spat back.

"I would rather be that then stone-hearted like you." Enola was growing tired of these arguments. She knew that neither of her brothers particularly liked her profession, but she did not appreciate their not so subtle hints of their displeasure. They failed to acknowledge the positives her lifestyle had had on her; they were narrow mindedly focused on the crime. Enola was all for a good debate where ideas were exchanged and defended but her brothers were never ones for a good debate; they were simply men who always had to be right. And if you didn't agree, you were simply steam rolled.

Despite her growing closeness to her brothers, she found herself having to constantly defend herself. But it was a challenge Enola was up for. "You immediately condemn everyone as an idiot without even giving them a chance."

"Why waste time having people prove what I already know?" Sherlock said. Their arguments had been increasing as of late; he had to confess that he was unaccustomed to Enola speaking back to him. Neither of them set out to argue, but it happened.

"That is ridiculous," She counted. "I still can't believe you had the gall to say 'Good God, it can think!' to Russell. She is extremely intelligent and doesn't need to you to degrade her like that."

She did not add the fact that her anger stemmed from her mortification she felt at Sherlock's words towards her oldest friend. For all she knew he probably treated his friend John in a similar fashion. It was moments like these that made Enola realize how much she had been influenced by the Lehrers and the rest of her surrogate family

"She took it with stride." He pointed out annoyed. He could not understand why his sister was becoming so upset about this. _Where is John when you need him?_ His brain supplied but he quickly flicked that thought away before it could muster the ache and the homesickness along with it.

"It's moments like these that make me wonder how the Hell you survived as a detective in London." She glared at him as he held the door open for her.

"Language, sister mine." He reprimanded, he couldn't help but notice as he said it, that the words felt like something Mycroft would say to him. He had come to the conclusion after spending time with his sister that some of Mycroft's more annoying traits had indeed perhaps been the traits of a big brother.

Though apparently her reaction to them was similar to his own as she flounced through the door.

"You've said worse." She called back to him.

"Hold the door!" Amelia called out just before Sherlock went in. "Thanks."

Amelia noticed that Enola was not waiting for them and the expression of Sherlock's face was grim and annoyed. She sighed and shook her head. "Oh boy." She had noticed the recent increases in their spats lately and was worried. She was also concerned for what could have caused them as neither Holmes child seemed any different than usual.

As the trio headed to elevator the blaring sounds of police sirens ran through the street. The sheer number of police vehicles that went by was what caught the attention of the otherwise apathetic New Yorkers, if only briefly.

"What did you do?" Sherlock demanded quietly to Amelia grabbing her arm.

"Whatever do you mean, Will?" She asked giving him a questioning look. Enola had gone ahead of them when the police cars no longer held her interest and opted for the stairs.

"Everyone turned their attention to the doors at the sirens, including myself, except you." Sherlock muttered quickly keeping an eye out for eavesdroppers. "You were expecting it. Stop playing the fool – what did you do?"

Amelia smiled; she firmly extracted her arm from his grip allowing him to see the scrapes and faint buries that were beginning to form on her knuckles.

"I was simply cleaning up." Amelia said sweetly with a smile that threaten. Sherlock could suddenly see from where his sister learned how to threaten. He unconsciously took half a step back as he held eye contact with Amelia.

"Hey!" Enola's voice snapped both of them from their stance. They both looked over to her as she stood in the stair doorway. "Meeting a client with a connection to the spider web in ten minutes. You can threaten each other later."

"We're taking the elevator." Amelia explained. Enola only sighed and accepted the answer before disappearing to the stairs again. Before Sherlock could protest, Amelia dragged him into the elevator and pushed the button the close the doors before anyone could get on. "I don't thing you or your brother ever truly comprehend how dangerous it was for Elle to take on your job. But she still did it anyway, because you are her brothers. Wilhelm and I sometimes are able to catch wind of a hit ordered on Elle's life. Sometimes the hits are ordered from people in Moriarty's organization; maybe they see it as fulfilling their boss' last order. Other times it's enemies of Mycroft wanting to weaken his network of whatever he controls. Let's not forget the enemies that you made during your time as a consulting detective. Either way, people want her dead."

"What about your enemies?" Sherlock pointed out. He was not about to let the Lehrers forget what they expose his sister to.

Amelia casually looked at Sherlock; there was no glint of humor or sarcasm in her eyes. "They know better than to strike at us."

"When you say take care of it?" Sherlock ventured as he eyed Amelia's pocketed hands.

Amelia smirked as she cocked her head to the side giving a mirthless laugh. "As much as you hate it, Wilhelm and I do consider Elle as our daughter. We, like any other parent, would do anything to protect our child. But as I said before, we only hear about it sometimes – we will not be able to stop it all the time."

Much to Sherlock's annoyance, the elevator reached the destined floor and the doors opened to Enola, who had her arms crossed.

"Do I even want to know what you two chatted about on the way up?" She asked after looking them both over.

"Contemplating the question to life, the universe and everything." Amelia said brightly before giving a confused Enola a quick kiss on her cheek then heading down the hall. "Yes I've been hanging out with Hatch a little too much."

Enola did not say anything as she looked back to Sherlock. She was surprised that he no longer had superior smug that he usually had on his face; instead he was probing her wearing a thoughtful expression.

"Don't just stand there," Enola finally got out; she never liked it when Sherlock was picking part her person, she found it unsettling as any person would. "Other people have to use the elevator."

Sherlock followed her to the temporary offices that the Lehrers had set up to meet with the current client. The meeting was surprisingly informative, once you got past the emotionally presentation of the client. The client owned a shipping business, who took on side jobs to keep his business afloat and to pay the seemingly endless hospital bills for his child's care. The side jobs were done for a Tom Rim, who the client described as always knowing more than what he told. The client gave them everything he had on Rim.

"Hatch, could you find this Rim online?" Enola asked after the client had left. She was looking thoughtfully at Rim's business card. She, Hatch, Carleton and Tekla sat around the conference table while Amelia stood towards the back of the room tending to her hands; Sherlock stood towards the back, mostly because the thieves were a bit trying on his patience.

"I'm insulted that you had to ask." Hatch replied with a playful huff as he typed away on his keyboard; he brought up several images on the large screen in front of them. "Already on it; general cover business, pretty vague on what exactly he does."

"Does he have another name besides Tom?" She asked throwing the card on the table.

"What are you getting at?" Tekla asked as she picked up the card.

"Ares Jay." Hatch supplied. "Why?"

Enola did not say anything but began to write on a note pad then held it up for everyone to read. In big letters she wrote out 'Ares Jay Tom Rim' and underneath . . .

"James Moriarty." Sherlock read aloud.

"Not really a clever anagram." Enola sighed as she threw down the notepad. She sounded mildly disappointed, as if she had expected better. "And there's the connection between our client and the spider web if anyone still wondered."

She glared back at Sherlock to emphasize her point; they had been arguing about a possible connection earlier before their visit to Russell. Sherlock quietly sighed in frustration and wondered how long Enola would stay mad at him. He wondered for what felt like the millionth time since this started if all brothers found their sisters this annoying and why he on earth had ended up feeling guilty that she was cross when he had clearly been right?

"How did you even see that?" Tekla looked at Enola in shock.

"I like puzzles and riddles." Enola shrugged. "It was just an observation and a shot in the dark."

"Damn good aim," Tekla said throwing down the card. "You've been hanging out with those analytical specialists at the FBI too much."

"They're fun and Wilhelm's old team," Enola pointed out with mock surrender.

"Where is Wilhelm anyway?" Carleton asked. "It's not like him to miss a client meeting."

"He had to go do some cleaning." Amelia said softly so that only Sherlock could hear. They shared a pointed look before Amelia smiled to everyone else and walked to them. "He had to go investigate something and he wasn't sure how long it would take him. Anyway, find out who is in charge of the company since Moriarty is dead."

Amelia continued to instruct the team leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts wondering exactly how much danger his sister placed herself in every time she did one of these jobs. Both he and his brother agreed that they had only found her and had her back in their lives again; they did not want to lose her, it was too difficult the first time.

The growing sense of sentiment was more trouble than it was worth for Sherlock, but oddly he found himself not minding so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review and let me know what you think!


	30. Unusual Target

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why would anyone want to harm a hair on her head?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set a little less than a month after 'Shall We Talk'.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has reviewed to this story. I know I don't respond all the reviews but they mean a great deal to me. Thanks again.
> 
> Much thanks goes to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for her help with this story.

She had gone up those steps a thousand times only to fall on them and send her shopping all over the sidewalk. It was going to be one of those days and she was not looking forward to it.

"Let me help you." A young American sounding man stopped walking and began picking up the fallen objects. "You alright?"

"Yes, I am; thank you." She picked up what was around her. "What's your name dear?"

"Charlie Siringo." The American smiled as he offered a hand to help her up. "You?"

"Mrs. Hudson." She could not help but smile as Charlie handed over her purse. "Silly me; I can't believe I fell like that."

"Will you need any help getting those in?" Charlie asked holding up her shopping.

"I should be fine from here." She opened the door not that her hand were free. "Thank you."

"Have a good day ma'am." He said handing over her shopping. He gave her a wave as he continued down the street.

Mrs. Hudson closed the door behind her, shopping in hand and smiled. Perhaps today was not going to bad after all.

-MHSHEH-

Charlie turned at the next intersection and kept walking until he reached the third intersection took a right and another turn down the first alley where Wilhelm Lehrer was waiting for him. He was smoking a pipe and looked up when he heard the approaching footsteps.

"Charlie Siringo? Really?" Wilhelm shook his head slowly.

"Historical joke," Terasach Carleton raised his hands in mock surrender.

"And fishline?" Wilhelm asked relighting his pipe. "I hope the dear lady wasn't hurt too much."

"She'll have a few bruises but nothing too serious." Carleton shot a glare at Wilhelm. It was a simple ploy to create a situation to allow an opening to insinuate oneself without suspicion that Carleton had often used. He was not a grifter so he used tactics that were not always elegantly executed, but they worked.

"Well?" Wilhelm jumped to the point of this whole escapade.

"I say there were about two snipers trained on her." Carleton crossed her arms as he explained. "Deactivated the explosives that were in the apartment before she came back."

"Two snipers? And explosives? That's interesting." Wilhelm remarked readjusting his hat as he began to pace the alley.

"If you mean interesting by unnecessary, than yeah." Carleton said. "What is it about that woman that makes someone want her dead?"

Wilhelm did not answer, either from not hearing being lost in his own thoughts, or the lack of want to answer being that the answer was not his to give.

"Is this one of you mysterious cases where you don't tell us anything except have us run seemingly random errands?" Carleton ventured after a while, recognizing that thoughtful look on Wilhelm's face.

"Why have snipers on her at all?" Wilhelm asked suddenly stopping in the middle of the alley. "What's the point if he's already dead?"

"And you're talking to yourself – again." Carleton sighed. Whenever Wilhelm was thinking he had the habit of talking aloud to no one in particular. After working with the Lehrers for years Carleton had grown accustom to their unusual habits. "Wait, who's dead?"

"Her tenant." Wilhelm answered unexpectedly. Another thing about Wilhelm, he always seems aware of what is going on around him, even when distracted. Carleton will never forget the time when he was talking with Hatch about baseball and they were debating about game rules, Wilhelm walked into the room and corrected both of them before grabbing what he needed and left.

"So someone had a beef with the tenant and threatened the land lady to get even?" Carleton asked watching Wilhelm resume his pacing. "That's intense; who got pissed?"

"If there are still snipers then someone believes that he isn't dead. That's a bother." Wilhelm sighed nonplussed. "Come along."

Wilhelm covered the chamber of the pipe and sucked out the air to extinguish it as he made his way to the street to hail taxi. Carleton quickly followed and reached him as a taxi pulled up to the curb.

"Should I be concerned?" Carleton asked as Wilhelm opened the car door.

"Moriarty." Wilhelm said simply as he hopped in.

"Only he could still cause trouble despite being dead." Carleton commented following Wilhelm into the taxi. "What's the interest in the land lady?"

"London City Airport." Wilhelm told the driver and they were off. The two men continued in hushed tones. "Her tenant crossed Moriarty and everyone he was close to was used as leverage against him. But since the tenant is dead the question becomes why are there still guns aimed at their head."

"Assuming that there are snipers on the other people based on their presence with Mrs. Hudson." Carleton added to clarify.

"Correct."

"But it's been five months since he offed himself," Carleton remarked. "Why keep orders of a dead man?"

"Exactly." Wilhelm said thoughtfully.

"What aren't you telling me?" Carleton asked.

"Quite a bit actually." Wilhelm sighed. "Do you still have those contacts in the military? Precisely the British military."

"Do you want air, land or sea?" Carleton asked. He knew better than to press Wilhelm for answers. The professor could become very cryptic and could out maneuver any question thrown at him. The end results left the questioner more confused than before and Carleton did not want a headache.

"I'm thinking anti-terrorist." Wilhelm took out his phone to check seeing if he missed any calls.

"Poker game with them next week," Carleton smiled. "Whaddya need?"

-MHSHEH-

Mrs. Hudson was walking back from her regular visits to Sherlock's grave and was surprised to see Baker Streets filled with police cars. The sight gave her an ache in her chest; it was a common sight when her boys were still residing with her. But with Sherlock dead and John moved out, it did not seem right without them.

She was surprised to see a few SO vehicles with groups of people fully armed and armored. Their guns were trained on a couple of men that were cuffed and being escorted to a transport truck.

"Oh my," She said to herself. Again it was a scene she would have expected if her boys were still living in the flat. Despite the inappropriateness of it, Mrs Hudson smiled.

-MHSHEH-

Enola smiled when she saw the caller ID. "We're not even a week out and you're checking in one us? We can handle ourselves." She said with false wounded pride and good humor.

"Just please tell me that you did not burn down Shanghai." Wilhelm requested, joining in on the joke.

"It's ablaze like Rome of ancient times." Elle answered with her small smile on her face growing. She was always happy to hear from the Lehrers and since she and Sherlock had taken down the drug ring in Shanghai connected to Moriarty earlier that day, she had lots to tell them.

"Are you alone?" Wilhelm asked. It was a simple question, but the manner in which it was asked caused Enola to tense slightly.

"Brother mine won't be back for an hour yet. He is ensuring the last of the evidence for the Shanghai police" She glanced over the copies that they had made of said evidence. She sat next to the window and watched as the brilliant lights of the Chinese city began to flicker. "Why?"

"Well..." Wilhelm told Enola what had transpired in London with Mrs. Hudson and the snipers.

"A bit much." Enola remarked with he had finished. Though her remark was casual it did not hide the uneasiness from Wilhelm. "Do you think that there's a chance that Moriarty faked his death?"

"At this point we will proceed that 'yes' is not a too improbable answer." Wilhelm had been pacing as he was talking with Enola. He slowed his pacing so he could stretch his arms and shoulders. "I have Hatch looking at the paper trail for Moriarty's body, see if there's any discrepancies."

"Sounds like a plan." Enola looked away from the window to the door as the handle began to rattle slightly. "Please do tell Sach not to cut his hair too closely this time." She added without missing a beat.

Sherlock walked in and saw Enola sitting in the chair near the window with her legs propped up on the table. She was talking with one of the Lehrers. Wilhelm most likely.

"Ah, Sherlock walked in," Wilhelm nodded understanding Enola's sudden change in conversation. "Keep him from deducing anything about this; he can't afford to drop everything and run to London."

"Of course it would be counter-productive." Enola declared with a huff keeping up her guise. She could feel her brother's eyes on her as thought he was trying to crack through her guise unknowingly.

"Stay safe my dear." Wilhelm requested sincerely.

"I will." She said with equal sincerity. "Tell everyone I miss them."

"Checking up on us." Sherlock said as Enola ended the call.

"Of course." Enola smiled removing her feet from the table. Sherlock sighed as he took the seat across his sister.

"Anything else?"

"No." They regarded each other for a moment. Sherlock felt that there was something else but he could not quite place what it was. It was much like trying to deduce something off of Mycroft who was very good at hiding things from his brother. Sherlock, however, could not think of any thing or reason for Enola to hide anything from him.

"How's your side?" Enola asked. The moment was gone, time to move on.

"Fine," He answered.

"Right." Enola said with a smirk knowing that he was still rather sore from his stab wound he received in Marseille.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review and tell me what you think.


	31. Unpleasant Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a little darkness in all of us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set during 'A Scandal in Belgravia'.

Enola found herself reading John Watson's blog. She had finished studying everything she needed for the broad to gain her Masters in her latest discipline. She was still debating whether she would continue on to a Doctorate in that field or not. It was decision that did not need to be made at the moment. Hence her being on the blog. Her mind was so occupied with Medieval History that she wanted something else to break up the monotony of her mind.

"Elle, what have I said about studying in the kitchen?" Amelia sighed as she entered said room. Despite her voice sounded world weary, that a mother that had told her child the same thing a thousand times over, her face held a look of fondness and amusement.

"Not to put the books away with the cere- I did it again, didn't I?" Enola looked up from the computer with an apologetic look on her face.

Amelia piled the books on the counter she found in the pantry with the cereal. "I'm willing to put more fiber in my diet if need be, but this is just ridiculous." She said with halfhearted admonishment. "What are you reading?"

"John Watson's blog." Enola turned back to the screen

"That's the man who rooms with your … second eldest brother, right?" Amelia asked as she stood behind Enola to read the screen.

"Yes," Enola nodded rather stiffly. She was getting better when talking about her family, but it was still hard. "Apparently he thinks Sherlock fancies someone. I think he's just projecting his wishes on the situation."

Enola looked over her should to Amelia and was surprise to see subtle changes in the woman's face.

"Something wrong?" She asked despite knowing the answer. Sometimes, though she never deduced the Lehrers, it was hard not to use her ability, not to see when something was wrong.

"Yes there is," Amelia finally said placing a hand on Enola's shoulder giving her a gentle squeeze. "But it's nothing you need to worry yourself about."

After a quick kiss on the temple, Amelia left a confused Enola to retreat to her husband's study where he was grading papers. Hearing the door click closed, Enola turned back to the computer rereading the blog post to see what upset the woman. There was little she could see and after trawling for another hour, returned to her work. The door of Wilhelm's study remained closed for all this time.

Enola thought little of it over the next days until she saw Wilhelm and Amelia talking at the door with a suitcase at their feet.

"What's going on?" She asked.

"There's something that I need to look into – alone." Wilhelm stressed the last word.

"What aren't you telling me?" Enola demanded looking back and forth between them.

"We'll talk when I return." Wilhelm promised after a slight hesitation.

Enola slowly nodded. "I'll hold you to it." It was an unnecessary insistence; the Lehrers had yet broken a promise to her, but the need to say it was there.

"We wouldn't expect anything less." Amelia remarked. Trust was still a difficult thing for Enola. If there was a chance that there was something being kept from her or something deceiving her, she became unconsciously spooked. The Lehrers worked hard to make sure that Enola was kept in on everything so she could learn to trust those closest to her when appropriate.

Wilhelm gave them each a kiss on the cheek before leaving. When the door had closed, Enola suddenly found herself being held by Amelia. She did not protest the embrace but returned it despite her confusion.

-MHSHEH-

"I know that look." Treasach Carleton remarked as he sat next to Wilhelm in the old bar near the Lehrers' loft apartment. A local neighborhood bar that had been there for years. Wilhelm's father had often gone there with him when he was meeting a co-worker. Wilhelm would sit and watch everyone as they went about their business as his father was worked over dinner. It was really the first place that Wilhelm would profile people. At the moment the bar was not particularly busy due to the holiday season having ended.

Wilhelm was nursing a beer and was about half way through; Carleton had only just gotten his beer and was only a few sips short of a full glass.

"Which look, I have so many." Wilhelm said drily before taking another sip. He had just recently returned to the Sleepless City and had not quite made it back to his home. He needed to organize his mind before he faced his wife and daughter.

"The same look I've seen on my own face when I look in the mirror," Carleton said. "That look of thinking over that one thing that you did that could have gone too far; something that you couldn't forgive yourself if you did."

"So speaks the solider." Wilhelm leaned back in his seat and sighed. He knew that he could not distract Carleton that easily.

"What's on your mind?"

Wilhelm crossed his arms in thought. "We never seem to get away from the darkness, do we? Step into that world just a moment and it stains your soul, eating away at your soul. Ever tire of people saying that they understand or they empathize when you know they really can't?"

"Yep," Carleton took a drink from his glass.

"I almost killed a woman in London." Wilhelm said thoughtfully as if talking about his classes. "I'm wondering if I did the right thing by not following through."

"Do I – "

"No," Wilhelm shook his head slowly. "There's no reason for you to stain your hands red once more. Besides, she will bring down her own downfall."

"Do anything to push that along?"

Wilhelm shook his head again. "Said I would just to scare her; knowing her, her pride will do all the work for me."

"May you never see that woman again." Carleton held up his glass. Wilhelm took his own glass and clinked it to Carleton's.

"Here, here."

"I understand you're putting together a crew." Carleton said after he put down his glass. "Do you need muscle?"

"You want in?" Wilhelm could not help but smile at the fortuitous turn of events. He now no longer needed to ask.

"I want in." Carleton held out his hand.

Both men gladly shook hands in agreement. Wilhelm noted, as he often said to his students, with every valley, there comes a peak.

-MHSHEH-

Enola locked the door behind her and was shedding her coat and scarf when she sensed something was off in the apartment.

"Elle" She heard Amelia call from the sitting room. She hung her outer wear and breathed deeply. The air felt thick with tension and she had yet to see her parents yet.

"Yes," She said as she entered the sitting room. Wilhelm and Amelia were sitting on the couch both wearing a grim expression. Enola was slightly surprised as she was not expecting Wilhelm to return until the next day. "Are we going to talk now?"

They nodded and as Enola walked further into the room the air felt weighted. She likened it to the time the Lehrers told, better yet, warned Enola about James Moriarty. But there was something different about the weight; there was a chill as if there was an old wound recently reopened unkindly. Emotional damage – Enola could see it without trying.

They talked into the night, forgetting dinner, forgetting papers to grade, forgetting class lectures to proof, forgetting everything except Irene Adler, a dominatrix specializing in blackmail. They did not go into a great amount of details of their dealings with Adler, but their vague descriptions of the encounters left Enola glad they were enigmatic. The more they talk the more Enola wondered why Sherlock would even be slightly attracted to someone like that. Granted, people change over time, but she doubted Sherlock had changed much since last they saw each other. Part of her wondered if Adler was perhaps someone from his drug using days, perhaps trying to blackmail him back to her side. She could fathom no other reason for her brother's interest.

"Did you find out who she was?" Enola suddenly asked. "The woman Adler used as a body double?"

Wilhelm nodded. "The woman was Rebecca Mills. I was at least able to return her body to her family after she was properly identified."

Enola sat there between Wilhelm and Amelia on the couch, cross legged, fiddling with her silver necklace. Wilhelm had draped his arm over her shoulders and Amelia held Enola's free hand.

"What was it that your dad says?" Enola asked looking at Amelia.

"There are wolves that prowl through the world seeking the ruin of souls." Amelia quoted her father. How strangely apt for the situation.

"Do you think she'll try something to my brothers?" Enola looked to Wilhelm.

"Probably," Wilhelm nodded. "The chance of a power play on the man who embodies the British Government using his weakness of his little brother is too tempting to pass."

"Weakness?" Enola connected many things to Mycroft; weakness was not one of them.

Wilhelm gave a weak smile. "Everyone has a weakness. Mycroft's is that he wants to protect his family; jury still out on how well he has done that."

Enola pondered this in her head; she had never thought of Mycroft of a family protector, simply as a looming presence that wished to control her. But thinking back, it made sense. Mycroft and Sherlock were always arguing about things and Mycroft defended himself saying he did what he thought was best. Maybe it was the reason why Mycroft did so well with his job; he worked hard to protect Britain which he valued greatly. Following that line of reasoning Enola wondered if Mycroft valued his family just as he did Britain.

Enola leaned against Wilhelm and he held her tighter, Amelia began to gently stoke her hair.

There maybe wolves in the world, but Enola knew that she did not need to face them alone.


	32. Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A con is blown and things come to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allow me to first apologize for the long delay for this chapter. This is set sometime after 'Shot in the Dark' and near the end of the three year Hiatus for Sherlock.
> 
> Thank you to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for all her help.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys this chapter.

They were running.

Running as fast as they could trying to out run the security behind them. It was made even more difficult since the guards behind them were quite insistent in using firearms against them.

"Take the next left then the first door on the left." Hatch instructed Carleton and Sherlock via the ear buds. He was directing them through the building looking at the security schismatics in his surveillance van that had been parked a few blocks away before all Hell broke loose. Hatch thought he was doing a decent job of looking at the schismatics on his smart phone without hitting any pedestrians in the streets. "That's your way out."

Without hesitation Carleton took the next left grabbing Sherlock by the arm and practicality pushed him through the door. They quickly closed the door, locked and barricaded it.

"Where's our way out?" Carleton asked between deep steady breaths.

"Look behind you." Hatch explained.

Carleton and Sherlock looked behind them to the ceiling and floor windows. On the other side of the window was Amelia and Tekla on a swing stage cutting the glass so they the men could get out.

"All board," Amelia said when she and Tekla pushed the cut glass out of the way. They helped the boys on the swing stage and began their hurried descent just as security broke through the barricaded door. Amelia threw in a smoke bomb before any of the guards could take aim of them, but it did not stop them from taking a few shots.

All four held on for dear life as they practicality fell to the ground. They violently jolted to a stop a few stories off the ground. Tekla already threw a rope over the side and they all made their way to the ground. Hatch just pulled up to the curb.

"Let's move it and shake it." He yelled through an open window as Tekla opened the door. She and Amelia climbed in followed by Sherlock who was supporting an injured Carleton.

"Hatch, you have my permission to drive recklessly through the streets," Amelia said as she slide the door closed behind her. She was oddly calm with all the gun fire. "Just don't hit anyone."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Hatch slammed on the gas and they were off.

-MHSHEH-

"What happened?" Wilhem asked as he entered the room. His question quieted the hotel suite of flying questions and demands. He was not mad, concern traced his voice more than anger.

He surveyed everyone in the room; Carleton was sitting on a bar stool as he was being stitched up by an eerily calm Amelia by the kitchenette, he had several deep gashes on his back resulting from the scuffle back at the office building. Tekla had taken to pacing behind the couch opposite of the kitchenette as she ranted and Hatch was surprisingly calm as he worked on his laptop reviewing what he was able to download before he was locked out of system. Sherlock sat a ways from everyone else near the window with his hands pressed together as he thought. Wilhelm could not help but note the well disguised hint of concern in his stance; something had spooked him. He looked up when Wilhelm stepped into the room, as did everyone else.

"The head of security thought he recognized Will. He was very insistent about it and blew our cover." Carleton explained. He grimaced slightly as Amelia added another stitch. Sherlock also injured as evident by the blood and tears on his shirt, but his injuries were not as extensive as Carleton.

"Really," Wilhelm remarked glancing at Sherlock who returned his stare. Wilhelm was concerned, that much was evident; he took note of the injuries on both men as he pulled out a stool to sit on while he listened.

"They seemed very hell-bent on killing you, Will." Carleton continued, looking at Sherlock as best he could. "More than just mistaken identity; makes me wonder ah-"

"Sorry," Amelia said drily as she continued. "Forgot to say this will sting."

"Right." Carleton did not really believe her and Amelia knew it. "Who is Holmes?"

The sound of his actual name spoken by Carleton gave Sherlock pause. It sounded almost unnatural to hear it from the hitter. To be honest, after so much time away it sounded strange to hear it at all; it reminded him of home, of John and all the things he wanted to get back to; things that seemed more distant the longer he was away. Sherlock quickly looked to Wilhelm whose stony expression screamed at him not to say anything. Sherlock snorted indignantly and turned his attention back to the window; as if he would actually say anything.

"What?" Tekla asked, she finally stopped pacing and took a seat next to Hatch who was failing at trying to not pay attention to the argument that was building before him.

"They kept saying that they found Holmes?" Carleton explained not taking his eyes off of Sherlock. "And that he was gonna pay."

"What happened?" Enola just walked into the suite unaware of the previous conversation. She looked worried. She was not the only one; both Tekla and Hatch looked waywardly at Carleton as his eyes flitted to Enola before refocusing on Sherlock. Enola did not notice the action from the pair on the couch since she was solely focused on her brother. Despite his calm exterior she could tell that something was off.

"The mark recognized Will." Carleton repeated for her staring at Sherlock. "Kept referring to him as 'Holmes'; any idea why?"

"Carleton." Wilhelm said with a warning tone.

"I think being shot at and the entire con blown because his mug is recognized with a different name owes us an explanation." Carleton spoke with equal severity now staring down Wilhelm.

"Play nice you two." Amelia ordered showing just a hint of threatening. She finished up patching up Carleton and was currently wiping her hands before covering the stitches. Her demeanor at the moment could be best described as a calm before a storm. Enola did not react at the sound of her family name, but made a beeline to her brother to see his status, the blood on his shirt made her worried.

"Who is he?" Carelton demanded. "He's obviously not just a photographer whose an amateur detective on the side."

"If you're going to be mad at someone Sach, be upset at me." Enola said as she inspected Sherlock's injuries despite his protestations. Her eyes flew over him, relief showing through as she realized the injuries were superficial and would easily heal. Turning her attention back to the conversation, Sherlock could not help but notice a new different fear lace her eyes; he realized that she feared the reaction of her family to this moment, that she feared to lose them, even if she could not lie to them any longer. "I asked Wilhelm and Amelia not to tell you."

"Why?" Tekla asked.

"Tekla, if you were to remove the spectacles," She took off the said object from Sherlock's face. He quickly, but gently, grabbed her wrist as she pulled the spectacles away. There was a look in his eyes that seemed to beg her to stop what she was doing, but she continued on by sitting next to him, extracting her hand from his grasp. "And if his hair was the same color as mine."

Tekla looked between them, studying their faces; Sherlock was looking at Enola, but she was looking away from him towards her feet. It was not long before the confusion left Tekla's face and was replaced by realization.

The museum job in Paris with Arsene Lupin and the run-in with Sherlock Holmes. She remembered the girl's reluctance in working so close to the self proclaimed consulting detective. She remembered fooling the deductive powers of said detective, and now he unknowingly fooled her for the past two years.

What a comeuppance. She would have laughed at the situation at any other time.

"Will is really Sherlock Holmes and you two are related," Tekla finally said. "By the looks of it I would say – brother and sister."

"Wait a second," Hatch closed his laptop giving his undivided attention to Sherlock, not that Hatch was not giving it already. "You're the internet detective? The one accused of arranging the crimes you solved to look smart? The one who offed himself? The one with the hat? That one?"

Sherlock just glared at him. Of all the things for Hatch to remember, he remembered that damned hat.

"That one!" Carleton said annoyed. He took no effort to hide the betrayal he felt. "So how long did you think you- watch it!" He glared at Amelia who was being less than gentle with the dressings and bandages.

"Well if you kept still," Amelia shrugged continuing her work.

"We don't need to tell them anything." Sherlock whispered softly to Enola as everyone was distracted by Carleton and Amelia's exchange. He felt the sudden need to protect his sister, he found himself worried she was about to be hurt by someone she held closest. It was an uncomfortable overwhelming sensation.

"You don't," Enola said just as quietly looking sadly to her brother. "But I do."

"Elle," Her name was a plea.

A plea to consider the ones in danger if revealed that he was alive before the right time.

A plea not to undo their work over the past two years.

A plea to side with him and not with them.

"I can't keep lying to them." Her plea was for him to understand.

Both pleaded, but both could not really understand. Even though truly the argument they pleaded for was the same, they both wanted to protect the families they held dear.

"How are you two related?" Hatch asked. He did not sound angry like Carleton, oddly enough his manner was calm and curious. "Are you brother and sister?"

"Better question – how long did you think you could hide this from us?" Carleton demanded.

"If they do not wish to divulge then do not force them." Wilhelm suddenly spoke up. He had not said anything for so long that his voice sounded booming.

"You don't con your own crew! " Carleton stated, jumping up, fury in his eyes. "Wh – "

"They are not the only one with secrets." Wilhelm cut him off with a calmness that would frighten anyone. There was a sudden heaviness in the air as he stood from the stool and replaced it in the kitchenette. "It is late and we're all tired; I suggest we all go to bed and continue this in the morning when we are all calmer."

And that was that – Wilhelm left the room to the bedroom he and Amelia had claimed as their's. Amelia stood in the room with her arms crossed watching everyone, waiting for them to listen to Wilhelm's suggestion.

"Good night Carleton." Amelia said. Sherlock noted the motherly tone she had taken on, but it did not take away the threatening underlay to her voice.

Carleton broke his gaze from burrowing holes into the door that Wilhelm had just closed, quickly looked at Amelia before settling his stare to Sherlock and Enola still sitting by the window.

The Holmes siblings looked back waiting to see what he would do next. Carleton just stood and stormed out to go to his room. The bang of the door caused Tekla to jump slightly; she never liked to Carleton angry. After a moment, when the bang was less resounding, she patted Hatches leg and motioned to the door and he nodded in agreement.

"G'night," Hatch mumbled as he grabbed his computer before he and Tekla filed out to their own respected rooms.

"Don't stay up too late you two." Amelia remarked when the door closed, gentler this time. "It will be alright." She gave Enola a kiss on top of her head and gently squeezed Sherlock's shoulder without hurting him before joining Wilhelm in their room.

Left alone, Enola stood and went to grab the medical kit to tend to Sherlock's injuries.

"Take off your shirt," She ordered, kneeling in front of him and taking out different bottles and such from the kit. "Let's see the damage."

"I'm fine." He insisted for the second time; the first was for Amelia and now his sister.

"I'll believe that when you stop bleeding." She remarked moving his jacket so he got a better look at his shirt. The blood splotches had increased in size and Sherlock grudgingly agreed to allow Enola to examine him further.

Nothing required stitching, which was good. Enola had not quite mastered the art of binding wounds neatly, not like Amelia. It was mostly clean, disinfect and cover and she quickly went to work.

"They're mad at me." She murmured, half to herself, half to the room, but not really to Sherlock.

"No they're not." Sherlock said in a desperate attempt to comfort her. Comforting was not his best suit. He had always relied on John for that in cases. He thought about what would John do in a situation like this; the only thing that popped into his mind was John telling him to not behave like himself. Not helpful in this case.

"You sure picked a Hell of a time to become a bad liar." Enola remarked evenly as she cleaned another cut on his arm.

"Elle – "

"It's a betrayal of trust." She continued on becoming more visibly upset as she spoke. Sherlock found that over the past year he did not like to see Enola upset.

"Elle – "

"You don't con your crew." She repeated Carleton's words.

"Elle – "

"What have I done to my family?"

"Enola!" Sherlock did not quite shout but it was enough to snap Enola's attention completely to him and he grabbed her hands to keep her from fiddling with anything.

They looked at each other. It was the first time since Marseilles when she asked him not to, that Sherlock had used her full name. She felt stiff in his grasp, suddenly remembering past things that they had both hoped to forget.

"Elle," He began again with a more gentle tone. "You only did what Mycroft and I asked. Their anger is truly directed at us for the position we put you in. There's no need for your concern."

"I'm your sister," She said softly looking down at their hands. "I'm always concerned."

"It will be alright." Sherlock promised.

"I hope so." Enola murmured to their feet

As Sherlock and Enola talked so did Wilhelm and Amelia in their room.

"I think the last time I saw Carleton that upset was when we first met him." Amelia said as she paced. Wilhelm was laying on his back on the bed with his hands laced together on his chest, looking up at the ceiling deep in thought. "I do admit that it went a lot better than I thought it would." She stopped pacing and glanced at her husband. "Have you heard anything I've said?"

"Every word my dear." He said still staring at the ceiling. "It will work out in the end."

"You're sure about that?" She asked easing herself down on her side next to him. She propped her head up with her arm so she was able to look down her husband's contemplative face. He nodded. "Explain to me, o so wise one."

"There is a reason I picked who I did for this crew," Wilhelm explained. "It's more than just their skills, and being among the best out there. I decided on them because I knew that they would work well together; that they would be able to learn to be able to depend and trust each other."

"It also helps that they all treat Elle like a younger sister." Amelia pointed out.

"That did help with narrowing the prospects." Wilhelm smiled. He propped himself up as well, mirroring his wife. "Looking back on it I think the fact that they worked so well with Elle and her lack of social skills that when Will came along I unknowingly knew that when Hatch, Tekla and Carleton discovered Will's identity it would be alright."

"You knew they would figure it out?" She was surprised at her husband's assessment.

"They're not stupid; of course they would figure it out." Wilhelm sighed. "I just wished it hadn't blown their part in the con."

"Elle looked pretty shaken by the whole thing."

"You know Elle," Wilhelm sighed. "Family is very important to her, and seeing her surrogate family in an argument like that is bound to upset her."

"Probably reminds her of her childhood." Amelia thought back to the times when she would talk with Enola about her childhood and the arguments that her parents would have when they thought no one was looking. "So what about the job? We're blown."

"Elle's not." Wilhelm pointed out.

"So the saving and pulling off of the con is entirely on Elle's shoulders," Amelia stated the obvious. She thought it over a moment then nodded. "Oh boy."

"She'll do fine." Wilhelm said, a bit surprised at his wife's reaction.

"I know that." Amelia poked lightly at Wilhelm's shoulder. "I just feel slightly sorry for the mark." She smirked.

"Really? I don't." He returned the smirk.

"Will they be alright?" She motioned to the door and to the siblings on the other side.

"I know they will be." Wilhelm smiled as gently kissed Amelia's forehead.


	33. End of Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things must come to an end. But in every ending, there is a beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope all of you enjoyed these stories I much as I have had in writing them. I would especially like to thank those who left reviews, kudos, or just positive thoughts.
> 
> This is set at the end of the Hiatus, so it's been three years since Sherlock has been in Britain and seen his friends. In terms of the other chapters

"Sherlock has his last piece." Enola announced as soon as Amelia stepped on the roof. "Enough to get the last person in Morarity's web of crime."

Enola sat sideways on the ledge of the building holding her knees to her chest watching the sun set.

"With which he will returned to London as the righted hero and the populous with cheer on their ever fluctuating support for him." Ameila said with a bit of flare as she sat on the ledge with her back to the sun. "Which begs question which and your brothers have forced to the back of your minds – now what?" She added with a much more serious tone.

"A difficult question." Enola sighed hugging her knees tighter.

"Yep." Amelia glanced at Enola.

"They want me to stop. Being a thief, that is." Enola said. "They haven't said those exact words, but you see it in how they act whenever the subject comes up. The uncomfortable pause before they speak, that look in their eyes . . . They want me to do something respectable."

"Says the bureaucratic politician and a detective who bends rules." Amelia gave a mirthless chuckle. Enola did not join in the small laugh, her mind too weighed down by her thoughts. "Would you? Stop, I mean."

"I think I can compare that to asking Sherlock to stop using abductive reason or Mycroft to stop using the world as a chess broad." Enola explained with a huff. "I like what I do and the reasoning behind it. But I don't think it's enough for them. Even with my academic work."

"Sounds like there's more to this then just gaining approval from your brothers." Amelia remarked as she turn back to the the city scape. She watched a few lights flickered on in the windows of the buildings before her reveal the occupants and their activities. "What else is going on in that mind of yours?"

"I find that I'm having a crisis of self." Enola confessed after awhile. "Am I Elle Lehrer or Enola Holmes? A thief or a runaway? A criminal or a disappointment? I sometimes feel as thought I am living as two separate entities sharing the same body that is working hard to make sure that one entity does not bleed into the other."

Amelia had lost interest in the city-scape as Enola spoke and she looked at the woman she raised. She had grown into a wonderful person and there was no doubting that; accomplished in so much yet still plagued by the deeply implanted doubt. It was moments like these that Amelia wished she had slapped some sense in Violet Holmes when she had the chance, it seemed Elle, no matter how far she came, would always bear the scars of her childhood.

"My dear Verity Enola Marie," Amelia said her full name slowly allow her native Texan accent to in full force. The simplicity of the statement of her name caused Enola to look at her. "You are you; Wilhelm and I could not be more proud of you. No matter what you decide you will be always be our daughter." Amelia stood and gave Enola a kiss on top of her head. "Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes."

Enola watched as Amelia went back inside. She swung her legs around off the ledge and gingerly placed them down.

With a simple sigh and nod, she made her decision.

-MHSHEH-

"Elle, exactly how good are you at picking pockets?" Sherlock asked.

They were standing on the edge of a crime scene in Park Lane with the crowd that had gathered. People gasped and whispered as a gurney came out of the house with a full body bag. Sherlock and Enola stood in the crowd keeping their face hidden from people's direct line of sight and of the cameras watching the events unfold. Sherlock watched as Lestrade stepped out of the building looking exhausted and lost. There was an odd mix of emotions in Sherlock; he felt glad to see a familiar face but at the same time he felt sorry for the Detective Inspector for the back lash he suffered because of Sherlock.

Sherlock was aware that Mycroft was able to call in a few favors so that Lestrade was able to keep his job and rank with the Metropolitan Police. It was the least they they could so for the Detective Inspector; but even Sherlock that was not near enough of what both he and Mycroft owed Lestrade. In all the years that Sherlock worked with Lestrade, he never realized how indebted he had become to him.

He briefly glanced to Enola who was discreetly taking a good look at everyone in the crowd. Sherlock wonder how Lestrade would react to her. He supposed that if his plan to capture Moran went accordingly, he would soon find out.

"You tell me." Enola began riffling through a wallet taking out the cash and pocketing it. Sherlock looked at the wallet and it looked like his. Unconsciously his hands went to his pockets and to his great surprise found that the wallet was actually his.

He did not feel a thing.

"And thank you for your donation for those nice pair of shoes I saw in topshop earlier." She smirked at him. "Very generous brother mine."

"Touché." He took back his wallet from Enola who had a Cheshire grin on her face. He kept his hand out until she also gave back the money. He coughed and she sighed as she handed over his phone as well.

"What do you need me to get?" She asked as they turned their attention to the morbid scene before them. They were recently in London after following a lead concerning a Sebastian Moran, one of the last of Moriarty's lieutenant of his criminal web. It was not long before they heard word of the murder of Ronald Adair and rushed over. The murder had intrigued both of the younger Holmes children and Sherlock was certain of a connection to Moran.

"I need you to put something in." Sherlock gave her a folded note and pointed to Lestrade who was talking with a few officers.

"Consider it done." Enola took the note and headed off to the detective inspector while putting on spectacles and pulled up her hair up. Sherlock noted how she completely changed her manner of walk as she approached the detective, adding a bit of a spring in her step and a little saunter.

Sherlock watched carefully to see how she would do what he asked. When she stumbled practically into Lestrade's arms he thought she was caught. She laughed at herself and apologized explaining that she was still breaking in the shoes she was wearing. Lestrade assured her no harm was done with a gentle polite smile and they went about their separate ways.

She nodded to her brother before indicating that they should more away from the crime scene. Best not press their luck too much; she was worried that one of the police would recognize Sherlock and blow their cover.

"What was on the note?" Enola asked when they met up a block or so away from the crime scene. Sherlock held out his hand and looked expectantly at her. Sighing she reluctantly handed over Lestrade's badge. He was tempted to ask who she was able to remove it from the wallet without anyone noticing, but decline knowing that she would only smile. "He'll find it faster that way." She added defending herself.

"A meeting place and time if he wants to find the killer in the Adair case." Sherlock explained pocketing the badge.

"You're going to need more proof than just an educated guess." Enola pointed out as she pulled out her phone. "Which is why I cloned one of the memory stick of one of the cameras, so now I have some crime scene photos for you."

She gave her phone to Sherlock so he could look at the pictures.

"I don't guess." He mumbled as he thumbed through the collection. Sniper shot – that was easy to figure out. He was slightly put out that he could not get a proper at the body and the scene before the police trampled all over the place. But it could not be helped.

"Any way," Elle ignored her brother's grumblings. "I also hacked into their system. As soon as they forensic results are entered into the system we can run a comparison on the Moran bullet we got in Morocco."

"Good." It felt good to get back to what he did best – solving seemingly impossible murders.

The pair walked down the street in silence slowly making their way back to one of the Lehrers' safe houses, actually it was the same one that Sherlock was taken to after he faked his death. In a way, it was like coming full circle.

It took a little longer than it would normally since they were avoiding the CCTV. They were not hiding from Mycroft. Enola had actually called him when they arrived to let him know of their presence; the three of them had dinner plans for the following week. They were, in reality, hiding from everyone else.

Sherlock gave the phone back to Enola when they reached the safe house and dug out his keys to open the door. After he unlocked the door he looked back to his sister and was surprised to see her looking over the street.

"You do realize that this is the end of our collaboration." Enola remarked somewhat sadly, turning to him.

Sherlock looked at her realizing what she meant. With him returning to his old life they would be again on opposite sides of the law and she would probably disappear from the lives of her brothers. She did it once before and she could do it again. This time she would not come back. Enola knew what would occur if it was revealed that the Holmes boys, one deeply involved in the government and the other investigating murders, had a sister who was a thief. It could ruin both of them.

"We could – "

"No, Sherlock." She cut him off using his name, his actually name and not 'Will'. She only did that when they were alone or she when wanted to talk about something serious. "I'm a thief, you're a detective; we can't change who we are."

"You're not a thief." Sherlock insisted as he had often done.

"I'm not good at much less," Enola insisted.

"We both know that's not true." He thought back to both the Lehrers proudly talking about her accomplishments, academic or otherwise. Sherlock knew that his sister would simply say it was all so she could better grift or forge; but if that was the case Enola would not study as diligently or with as much pleasure.

"I think the old bookseller would be good way to get to your friend John." Enola said brightly as she entered the house leaving Sherlock feeling a little frustrated. He hated how she would change the subject of the conversation whenever she felt uncomfortable about it.

"Elle," Sherlock followed it and closed the door with a bit of a thud to show his frustration.

"Though do try this time not to be too cantankerous." Enola called from Wilhelm's study. Sherlock shook his head as he took off his coat; he had been trying to talk to Enola for months about her life but she always out-maneuvered him into a different subject topic. "I think I even have a few first editions you could peddle."

"Enola," Sherlock entered the study and leaned against the door frame. Enola had already discarded her jacket and hat and was going through her rare book collection, but she had paused at the sound of her name. "I don't want you to disappear again. It would be pleasant to have someone around who is not an idiot."

A small laugh escaped Enola's mouth at Sherlock's joke.

"That's high praise coming from you." Enola turned to face her brother. She was holding several books. "But do you think it's wise to have your criminal sister around crime scenes. I might contaminate them."

"No more than me." Sherlock offered. "You are capable of so much more than thievery or forgery."

"Being a grifter has gotten into my blood," Enola insisted. "The other day I lifted a man's oystercard without thinking about it. Don't worry I gave it back." She added when she saw Sherlock about to say something.

"Yet you are docent at several American museums and lecturer." He pointed out. "Even Wilhelm encourages you to look for other occupation. Surely you cannot believe that this is all there is for you."

"Looking past the fact that you eavesdropped on a private conversation, I'll think about it." She sighed, putting the books on Wilhelm's desk. "Alight?"

"Alright." Sherlock saw that was about as far as he would get with her about the subject for the moment. He went and sat at the desk and looked over the books. "'The Origin of Tree Worship'?"

"Published in 1892 and it's an interesting read if you're bored." She shrugged as she took the book out out of her brother's hands. "I mostly like it for the illustrations."

"These are legally yours, correct?" Sherlock leaned on the desk looking at Enola.

"Of course they are!" She insisted while smiling and shaking her head. They had developed an easy manner with each other but that did not stop Enola from unconsciously inching away when Sherlock came to close or slightly flinch when he raised his voice. He wanted to erase those unconscious reactions from Enola's manner, but it proved difficult. As Mycroft had once remarked, it would take years to get past their mistakes.

Sherlock did admit that coming back to London felt like an end and a beginning. As he and Enola traveled across the world taking down Moriarty's web, Mycroft was working in London laying the groundwork to clear Sherlock's name and for his return. That was his new beginning, but he felt his time with his sister was fast coming to an end.

"I would have thought that after all this time you would have realized that I don't keep what I steal." Enola smirked as she took a seat at the desk. "If I did that I would have absolutely too much stuff.."

"What about that collection of Egyptian statuettes in the hallway?" Sherlock asked taking off his glasses. He had long since stopped dying and cutting his hair; it was back to what it was before his Fall but he continued to wear the glasses.

"Those are Amelia's." Enola said unfazed.

"Of course they are." Sherlock leaned back in the chair. "Dare I ask how she came across those?"

"You may dare," She shrugged. "But that doesn't mean that I'm going to answer you; or I could give a extremely vague answer along the lines of 'that was before Amelia used her powers for good'. Either way you come out annoyed."

"True." He had to agree because she was right. Sherlock's phone rang; sighing he picked up the phone. "It's Mycroft."

"Don't keep Jupiter waiting." Enola said as she picked up her notebook and began to write in it. "I'll stay out of trouble as you two converse."

Sherlock shook his head at Enola's nick name for their older brother and headed out to the hall to take the call. As he left the room she took a deep breath and leaned back in the chair throwing her notebook back on the desk. She had not told anyone of her decision. In truth she was not quite sure how her surrogate and biological family would react. Also, she thought it best to wait till after Sherlock had been brought forth as innocent and cleared of all charges.

If anyone would ask her, Enola would freely admit she manipulated the conversation with Sherlock to discover how much he true wanted her back in his life. She learned at a young age that her biological family that they would say things simply because it was what was suppose to be said at a particular situation, not because they actually meant it.

Over the years Enola could glean from her brothers' behavior and word phrasing that they hated the fact that she disappeared, but it remained unclear if it was because she outsmarted them or if they truly cared. After what was exchanged in the street she was leaning more towards the latter of the two.

Which was why she felt more comfortable with her decision than before.

The paperwork would be extensive, but it would be, in the end, worth it to Enola. She absently began to write her full name in the notebook; she paused when she came to the surname but smile knowing what she would write.

The world better be ready for the underestimated Holmes, for the unseen factor.

Fin.

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest gratitude goes out to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox', who so willing assisted me in reading over this making sure my characters were still true, that everything made sense and that my Americanism did not creep in too noticeably. Thank you, I do not think I could say it enough, Thank you.
> 
> Look for the sequel 'Compromised Factor'.
> 
> It will not follow the third season or even the fourth (I'm super excited about that). I don't want to make this something where I just randomly placed my characters in the episodes. I think that this has grown into it's own story line and I want to go with that. I hope you will all wish to read it when it comes out.
> 
> Next chapter is just everything in chronological order.
> 
> Again, Thank you. It's been a joy!


	34. Chronological Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As requested, here is a list of the chapters in chronological order.

'A Few Goodbyes'

'Stars' First half

'The Lehrers'

'Seven Bells'

'New Name'

'Crown Jewels Theft'

'Vermeer and Birthdays'

'Hidden Meanings' first section

'Internet Searches'

'Museum Job'

'Job Offer'

'Hello Again'

'Welcome to London'

'Stars' Second half

'A Left Hand into Coincidence'

'Unpleasant Meetings'

'Almost Unexpected'

'Difficult Meetings'

'After Baskerville'

'Hidden Meanings' last section

'Guardians' 'We Begin' :: both happen during each other

'Camera and Mirror'

'Shall We Talk' 'Chats and a Letter' :: both happen around the same time

'Unusual Target'

'Travel and Work'

'John and Ivy'

'Difficult Job'

'A Mark'

'Shot in the Dark'

'Mothers'

'Nine O'clock'

'Reveal'

'End of Things'

I hope that helps!

Be on the look out for the sequel 'Compromised Factor', coming soon!


End file.
